


I Choose You

by thesquidsquad



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Beggar!Levi, But it's k, Desert! AU, Doctor!Armin, Eren's got that temper tho, Eren's stepmom was cool before she turned into a jealous bitch, Erwin is everybody's dad because dad Erwin is best Erwin, Eventual Smut, I will go right the fuck down with this ship, I'll get there, Just because Levi's a beggar doesn't mean he won't wreck your shit, Kingsguard!Erwin, Lots of kissing, M/M, Maid!Petra, Prince!Eren, Seamstress!Mikasa, Secrets, Servant!Carla, Sultan!Grisha, TRIGGER: Panic Attacks, chef!Mike, ereri, fluff and shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:44:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 78,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesquidsquad/pseuds/thesquidsquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi didn't choose his fate. He didn't ask to be unfortunate enough to starve, and he didn't ask for the unnecessary amount of pride and aggression that made begging the most humiliating thing in the word. He definitely didn't ask to wake up cleaned and cared for after collapsing into the hold of some stranger with one brilliant golden eye, but ever since that moment, his life keeps changing in ways he could never imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> This is my brain child  
> Please be gentle  
> I'm doing my best
> 
> Okay so this is a desert AU, so I'm sorry if I mess up any traditional dress or anything I tried to do lots of research but the internet is full of lies
> 
> The italicized part at the beginning of chapter 1 is just some random narrator setting up some contextual things
> 
> The italicized parts at the end of most chapters is from Eren's point of view like a lil journal because I love him and he's got important fucking feelings 
> 
> Alright. 
> 
> Let's fucking do this.

_Long ago, in the sandy deserts of Arabia, two children were born into misfortune. The first child was the son of royalty, but his situation was a sorrowful one, for he was the bastard child of the Kind Sultan Grisha and his nineteen-year-old foreign servant girl. The Sultan's wife was furious, and demanded that either the child or his mother be exiled, never to be seen in the palace again. It was a cruel thing to ask of the Sultan, and in the end he couldn't choose between the woman who held his heart, and the helpless child they'd brought into this world. She was found dead of her own hand in the servants bathroom, and sitting next to her was the little prince, playing with the knife that had ended her short life. The Sultan grieved, lamenting that his inability to make a choice had forced her to make one for him. To this day, he cannot stand the sight of his son, who's grown to be strong, smart, and just as beautiful as his mother. Her image lives in the delicate, aristocratic bones of his face, and in bright turquoise of his left eye._

_The second child was born into a poverty so deep, his parents starved themselves to feed their newborn son. Unlike the prince's mother, most foreigners were not fortunate enough to find work. The boy's parents were from the Frankish Empire, and they'd fled the country to escape the crippling debt they'd accumulated, only to land in a place that was entirely unsuited to their fair skin and cultured etiquette. They constantly looked for work, doing everything they could to keep their child alive. They loved him dearly, until the end of their lives, when both their pockets and their stomachs could be no emptier. The child watched his parents waste away, too traumatized to leave their bodies for the six following days. He was found, covered in filth, by two children, equally impoverished but unmatched in wit. They taught him to fight and steal, but fate would not have the boy be content just yet. At only eight years of age, his only friends in the world, who had given him a roof to sleep under and a share of their food to eat, were killed by a group of angry merchants, men and women tired of their wares being stolen. After that day, the boy never stole again, and was alone once more, hiding and sleeping in the shadows, waiting for the same fate that took his parents to take him too._

 

**Twelve Years Later**

 

I can scrub my hands raw and bleeding, but the lingering feeling of filth under my fingernails and in the crevices of my hands will never leave me. I would be more worried about this right now if I had something to eat. The closest I got to food today was from a woman wrapped in a bright purple _jilbāb_ , who tossed a rotten apple into the small basket I used to collect change. She called me filth, and it's a waste of time to be offended when she's not wrong.

I am filthy, and no matter how hard I try, I can't get clean. My clothes are threadbare and stained, but they're all I have, and because of that I constantly feel the need to claw the skin off my body.  My cloak is the one item in my possession that I truly care for. I learned at a very young age that I couldn't handle the sun like the the natives' could, and Isabel and Farlan had saved up the small amounts of money they earned doing odd jobs to buy me a dark green cloak. I never went outside again without it, and it's the only thing I have left of them. It keeps me warm at night, when the cruel scorch of the sun is replaced by the howling chill of the wind across the sand, accented by the cold, watery light of the moon.

It's keeping me warm now as I look for a semi-clean, semi-sheltered place to sleep. The marketplace is eerie at night; the silence and shadows create a general atmosphere of uneasiness. The normally bright colors that litter the streets are gone with the merchants who brought them, and the monotonous color of the buildings in the pale moonlight offers little in the way of comfort.

I end up behind a tall building that houses people much more fortunate than me. There's a spot that looks to be slightly less filthy than the rest of the gritty cobblestone, so I curl up and pull my cloak over my head, relishing in the warmth it offers my frozen ears and nose when combined with my worn turban.

I won't sleep well. I haven't slept well in twelve years, always fearing that if I sleep too deeply, I won't hear muted footsteps of someone creeping up on me. I don't really know why anyone would bother. I don't know why I still care if someone ends my life or not. It's a miserable existence, constantly starving and feeling just about as pathetic as I appear. I hate the way people look at me, with a mix of pity and disgust, like I _chose_ to live the way I live. I sleep on the ground, all I have to my name is the clothing on my back, and I beg for a living. It's humiliating and repulsive. Why should I care if I live or die?

Maybe it's because I'm the only one who _does_ care. I was alone for six days when my parents died. I've been alone for twelve years now since Isabel and Farlan, and it cripples me. Maybe I want to live long enough for someone to decide I shouldn't be alone anymore. Maybe I'm waiting for a miracle to turn my life around.

Or maybe I'm just stubborn.

I know I won't have trouble with hunger pains tonight. Actually, my stomach doesn't bother telling me it's empty anymore, it already knows I can't do anything about it. I burrow deeper into my cloak and pretend I'm not alone. I pretend there is someone who cares for me, that the cloak wrapped around me is their comforting embrace, and I'm able to drift into what's a rather exceptional sleep by my standards before I notice how unrealistic I'm being.

 

 

\-----

 

I'm kicked awake, not for the first time, by a man telling me to leave before he calls the marketplace guard. I bow quickly and walk away, knowing better now that just because I _can_ fight doesn't mean I should _try_ to fight, especially not with the guards, armed with their long, curved swords. The market is starting to stir, and the bright colors of the merchant stands are as familiar to me as the callouses on my nauseatingly disgusting, bare feet.

I spend an hour drifting through the market, swallowing my small, remaining amount of pride and asking various merchants if I can offer assistance in exchange for a meal. Eventually I get lucky, and a man who calls himself Nile tells me he could use someone to lift his crates of produce onto different carts that will travel to different places throughout the kingdom.

I can lift a decent amount, even with how small and thin I am, and I work hard until the sun is at its peak, I'm sweating in every place possible, and no crates remain. I walk over to Nile to tell him the work is done, and he slaps my shoulder, telling me I did a decent job. I feel a spark of hope, thinking he might want me to come back, but it is immediately snuffed when he hands me a waterskin, thanks me, and walks away. When he comes back, the so called "meal" he rewards me with is a single chunk of bread. I want to get angry. I want to tell this man that I labored for something that will actually _fill_ my empty stomach, not someone else's scraps, but a person in my position can't afford to complain. I accept the food with a quiet thanks, and start the process of looking for somewhere relatively peaceful to sit down and eat.

I hold the bread firmly with both hands, like it might disappear if I'm not careful. I'm about to duck into a shadow to escape the heat and eat in peace when someone shouts from behind me.

"Hey!"

I stop, but I don't turn around.

"Beggar filth, I'm talking to you!"

I know what I am. I just want to be left alone.

"People like you shouldn't be wandering around in polite company like this! _Mongrels_ shouldn't be allowed off their leashes."

I turn my head to look at the man currently yelling at me. He's fairly large, and his turban has a glossy white feather tucked behind the purple stone in front of it.

I sneer internally. Kingsguard. The most privileged you can be without being a member of the royal family.

I turn again to walk away, trying to contain the anger licking at my stomach in hot waves, but then there's a hand on my shoulder. I'm spun around to face the hulking, slimy excuse for a human being standing at least a foot taller than me. He has the stench of someone who eats too much and sweats even more, and I try to calm the pulses of panic thrumming at the edges of my mind, threatening to overwhelm me if this disgusting man doesn't stop touching me _right now._

I swallow and call up as much courage as I can muster while simultaneously trying to avoid a mental breakdown.

"Why should they worry about beggars," I drawl, gingerly plucking his hand off my shoulder like the piece of rotting meat my subconscious is making it out to be,  "When this so-called _polite company_ has barbaric monkeys like you to worry about?"

I watch his face go through a couple different shades of red before he launches himself at me, causing me to jump to the side and drop my bread in surprise. I feel a little flutter of panic because that was the first decent food I'd gotten ahold of in at least three days, but the panic quickly morphs into anger. Who does he think he is, assaulting me when all I'm doing is trying to _survive_? I growl and give a hard kick to the back of his knee, and when he falls into a kneel, I kick him again, squarely in the back, and watch his face plant itself in the dust with a perverse satisfaction.

I walk away without saying anything else, and I go back to thinking of ways to find more food.  I don't notice how unstable I am until my feet stop working underneath me. My knees buckle, and I fall against the side of a building, gulping in deep breaths of dusty, humid air as my blood pounds through my ears. _It's okay_ , I think to myself, _It's all right, I just need to sit down_. I push off the wall and trip my way into the nearest alleyway. It's shaded, and it looks cleaner than most alleys I've spent time in; I'll need to make sure I remember where this place is so I can make my way back later to curl up and sleep.

The last thing I remember before my vision goes black is the ground racing up to meet me, and a singular golden eye.

 

\------

 

_I blink my eyes open slowly. The first thing I see is a man. He is tall, but I can't tell what he looks like because he is covered from head to toe in dark red cloth. He is speaking to someone. I can't see them. My eyelids are begging me to let them close._

_I let them._

 

_This time it is quiet. I feel more awake, but my mind feels like its unattached itself from my body. There are hands on me, under my head and shoulders, and I am lifted and propped up on something that puts me at an angle. I see a turban above me, and it covers everything but one golden eye, bright, flashy, and vaguely familiar in the darkness. The eyebrow above it is pushed up in concern, and I am confused. Concern is different from pity. Why would anyone be concerned for me?_

_I feel something cool press against my lips. I part them in response and gratefully accept the cleanest water I've ever tasted. Slender fingers brush hair out of my face, but I'm being pulled back into unconsciousness before I can wonder about anything other than just how clothed I am._

 

_It's quiet this time too, but I am already propped up on what I now realize to be a pair of legs, folded under my back. I blink slowly at the person above me. He still looks worried, golden eye skimming over my facial features, searching for any signs of distress. He relaxes a little when I focus on him, and I feel his hand shift next to me, digging around in a rucksack before pulling out a loaf of bread._

_I can feel my mouth watering, and I watch as he tears off small chunks and presses them to my mouth. Everything is fading in and out of focus, but the bread is soft and flavorful, and the golden eye never leaves my face. He doesn't give me another piece until I've swallowed the first one. The process stays the same, he patiently feeds me, and I greedily accept small bites of bread until the entire loaf is gone. I feel full, so deliciously and unusually full, and he gives me another drink of that uniquely refreshing water before I can't keep myself conscious any longer._

 

\------

 

I wake up of my own accord, feeling like myself again, but exceptionally better than usual. I'm warm, my stomach is full, my head doesn't hurt, and I'm well rested.

This is wrong.

I snap into a sitting position, looking around for the golden-eyed man cloaked in red, but I am alone. I am in a wooden room with high windows that filter in dusty rays of sunlight. I look around it's circumference and notice that to my left, there is a bucket and a stack of fabric. My cloak is draped over the one chair in the room, and I realize that I am clothed in only a loose fitting pair of pants. I don't even have my turban.

I walk over to the items, and I actually smile at what I see. The bucket is filled with fragrant soapy water, and there's a soft cloth floating at the top of it. The fabric appears to be a new shirt, pants, and turban, all in a soft shade of green slightly lighter than the color of my cloak.

I promptly strip out of my pants, and wash myself thoroughly, from my scalp to the gritty bottoms of my feet. I'm practically crooning my appreciation, relishing the feeling of making myself cleaner than I've ever been. I think I could actually cry at the feeling of the cloth pulling the grime off my pale skin. When I finish, I unfold the clothing and dress myself. I may have actually made some awful noise in the back of my throat, because this fabric is the nicest thing that's ever touched my pale skin.

I go to wrap the turban around my head, but I stop when my fingers brush against my hair. I almost never took my turban off, but when I did, my hair was dirty, stringy, and much too long. I would've cut it all off if I had the tools. However, as I touch it now, I notice that it's considerably shorter, and _soft_. It's been cut into a fringe that falls to right above my ears, with the lower half shaved close to the scalp. I can't stop touching it, threading my fingers through the longer part and brushing my palm over the scratchy texture of the shorter part. For the first time in my life, I wish I didn't have to wear a turban. Sadly, the only person I've heard of who is able to get away with that sort of thing is the Bastard Prince Eren.

The people love their Prince, and they couldn't care less about his illegitimacy, much to the dismay of the Sultan's wife. He's admired throughout the city for his kindness and beauty, but I've never seen him. Most people know what he looks like, and I know there are merchants that sell paintings of him to his rich admirers, but I've never seen those either. My image of him might be a little biased, because I've only heard the gossip that flies through the open windows of brothels and brightly colored marketplace stalls. Apparently he's a "devastatingly handsome," tall, tanned man with foreign features and mismatched eyes brighter than gemstones.

All I can say, is if this Prince is so kind, why hasn't he tried to help people like me? Or people like my parents? Or people like Isabel and Farlan? I don't have a shred of respect for the royal family because they've done _nothing_ to help the people that can't help themselves.

I drag my hands through my unbelievably silky hair one last time before wrapping the turban around my head. This fabric doesn't scratch my ears, and I feel myself smiling again. I walk over to the chair that my cloak is draped across, and when I go to put it on, I realize there are things underneath it: a full loaf of bread, and a bladder full of water.

This isn't real.

This can't possibly be real. I was fed, cleaned, and clothed by a stranger, and he's left me more than enough to take with me. Or was it not meant for me? It couldn't be meant for me, it's too much. However, the man did leave it where I'd find it...

I'm taking it. This is more food than I see in a week. And this water— I remember this water. I don't know where the man found it, but it was cool and crisp and not at all like the water in the worn skins of the merchants or the dusty and rarely-filled wells of the kingdom.

I wrap the water and the bread back up in the blanket they'd been placed on atop the chair, and I began to walk out of the dusty room, but I stop just short of the doorway. He was so kind, I can't help but turn back and fold the blankets. It's all I can do as a thank you, however small it may be.

I go down the narrow, winding staircase and exit the building, and it's only then I realize I was hidden in one of the four bell towers that stand at the compass points of the kingdom. I look up, squinting at the tallest point of the spire, and briefly wonder what it would feel like to be up that high.  When I was younger, I used to wish I could turn into a bird and fly away from the life I've been stuck with, up into the clouds and past the burning sun until all my memories of this place were scorched away and the only thing I knew was the wind. However, right now I need to focus on the fact that I don't have a place to hide my food. After a little contemplation, I decide now is as good a time as any to find a place to sit and eat.

The weight of the makeshift satchel underneath my arm is comforting, and I feel genuinely _decent_ as I find the shadow of a tall building to rest in. I unwrap the bread and look at it for a moment; it's finer than merchant bread, but it's simple, shaped like an oval, and perfectly risen. The crust crackles as I tear a small chunk off and put it in my mouth. It's perfect, porous, and soft, and the crust is wonderfully flaky as it crunches between my teeth.

I close my eyes and hum around my mouthful in content. They snap open in alarm when I hear a noise that reminds me of little bare feet on stone, and I look to my left and see a girl. She couldn't be more than five or six, and she looks worse than I ever did. Her dark skin is stretched tightly over her bones, and her ragged nest of brown hair looks like it hasn't ever been washed. She could be a skeleton, easily blown away by a fierce wind. I almost want to laugh at the irony of someone begging from a beggar, but instead I offer her a small smile and half of the remaining bread I have.

The loss is worth it for the way she lights up and takes the bread before bowing shyly and scampering away. I wrap up what's left of the food and push myself to my feet, wincing as my back cracks in about three places. I'm reluctant to drink the water, I want to make it last as long as possible. I shuffle out into the street again, looking for anyone willing to offer me work. Sometimes I wonder if I'm ignored because of how small I am.

After about an hour of walking throughout the stalls, I feel a light prickling sensation on the back of my neck, and I whirl around, looking for anyone trying to follow me. When I see no one, I continue walking, but the feeling doesn't go away. The bottoms of my feet start to itch, and I feel the beginnings of that terrifying and familiar pressure crowding the edges of my mind, waiting for its chance to incarcerate me.

 _Calm down_ , my eyes dart back and forth nervously, and I look around one more time before turning around and walking faster. _Calm down, no one's going to hurt you. You're safe, you're okay._ I can't shake this horrible feeling, and I feel my heart speed up as the panic creeps in. I can't focus on anything, _I can't see_ and everything's fuzzy and I'm just trying to keep walking and I keep _bumping into people_ and my heartbeat is _loud_ and invasive in my ears and then, my ankles give out.

I hit the ground and curl up, trying to keep my head safe, and I am stepped on once, twice, before I feel myself being picked up. I thrash around and try to break free of the tight grip, but it only grows tighter, and I know I'm not nearly strong enough to fight the iron hold of whoever it is that scooped me up. I feel like I'm going to _choke_ if I don't get put down _right now_ , and I'm on the ground again, with my back against a cold stone wall. There is a warm hand gripping mine, and I can barely make out the person in front of me through my fuzzy vision. They are breathing slowly and deeply, indicating with their free hand that I should do that same.

I try my best to slow my racing heart, and after a short while, I am no longer struggling to breath. My vision clears, and I can see the entire dark silhouette of the person in front of me, but all I can focus on is the concerned, extremely familiar, bright golden eye.

 

 

\------------------------------------

 

_Mikasa told me to let him be. She said people die like that all the time, and that he's not anything special. In my opinion, anyone who can take down one of my guards without a single scratch on their person is quite special indeed._

_This was the first day I'd escaped the palace in about a month, and I'd spent a good three hours catching up with my only two friends. Armin ran a small clinic in his little house, and I've never met a more intelligent person besides, perhaps, the commander of the Kingsguard, Erwin Smith. When Armin's grandfather died, he'd left all his books to his grandson, and Armin read each one avidly, gaining the medical knowledge he possesses today. Mikasa had come here from a land far away, and her skill with a needle is unmatched. She sells tapestries and mends clothes, and everyone knows who she is because of her viscous spirit. She lives with Armin, and no one bothers them. I am often envious of their peaceful lifestyles._

_When I saw the guard confront the small man in the marketplace, I'd rushed out of their house to stop him. Even in disguise, I'm still the prince, and I refuse to have a member of the palace staff acting so horribly to the people of the kingdom. I'd watched him take down the guard in two solid kicks before nearly falling into a building and then stumbling into an alleyway. I'd followed him and peeked around the corner to make sure he was alright, and I'd seen him panting, hunched against the wall like he was about to vomit. I'd walked around the man slowly, trying not to startle him, and before I could say anything, his knees gave out. I'd darted forward and watched his eyes close as I caught him around his shoulders, just in time to keep his face from smacking into the ground._

_I remember how shocked I was when I scooped him up. He was so light, I could've thrown him clear across the street. I'd ran to Armin immediately, and he told me he couldn't believe the man was still alive. He'd given me a multitude of different vitamins, and told me that if the man was going to live, he'd need to be taken care of until he fully gained consciousness again, and even after that, he'd need to be monitored to make sure he was eating enough. I'd ended up taking him to the bell tower, and Armin and I took turns nursing him back to health. He regained consciousness a few times, and he'd looked so blissfully unaware of his situation, I'd wanted to cry. When we'd undressed him to clean the dirt from his skin, I'd been shocked, both at the pale color, and the prominence of his bones. This man was half dead from not eating enough, from the extent of his malnourishment. I'm assumed he's been like this his whole life._

_I'm now walking to the tower again, and it's been four days since we'd brought him here. I'm mildly surprised when the door opens and he slips out. When he's well away from the building, I dart inside and up the stairs to lock the door to keep any undesirables out. As soon as I'm out the door again, I see him walking a little ways off, and I end up following him into the marketplace. Armin had said he needs to be under constant attention until he fully recovers, and I don't want anything to happen to him. I follow at a distance as he walks through the colorful stands before ducking into a side passage and sitting down in the shade of a building. He looks happy, and I smile as he tears a piece off the bread I'd left for him and closes his eyes in content at its taste. My eye flicks to the movement at the other end of the alleyway, and I watch, curious, as a little girl cautiously walks up to him. My heart stops at the sight of her; she looks even more malnourished than he does, and I find myself wondering how many people in the kingdom are living like that. My curiosity piques as he tears a sizable chunk off the bread and hands it to her._

_Mikasa is wrong. This man is something special. I can't believe he gave away so much when he has so little. This is a kindness unheard of in the stuffy world of the aristocracy. Neither my father nor his prestigious acquaintances would ever show that kind of generosity to one another. I continue to keep my distance as he gets up and wraps the rest of his bread in the cloth. He weaves through the stands, talking to different merchants and walking away from them with an impassive look on his face. This continues for about an hour until something goes wrong. He spins around, eyes darting wildly through different parts of the crowd, before turning back and briskly walking in the same direction. I watch as he bumps into a few people, and when he suddenly collapses to the ground and curls in on himself, I'm racing over to him. No one is paying attention to the man shaking in the dirt, and I'm appalled at the attitudes of these people. I don't understand why no one has tried to help him to his feet, and I grow furious when I see a few people step on him. When I finally get close enough, I scoop him up, out of the street and away from the foot traffic. He thrashes wildly in my arms, but I only tighten my grip. I take him behind a melon stand, set him down against the wall, and crouch in front of him. I then grab both of his hands in one of mine, and press my fingers into his knuckles to try and loosen the tense fists he's made. His eyes are wide with panic, and he's trembling and breathing too fast. With my free hand, I attempt to mimic my slow inhales and exhales. He seems to understand what I'm asking of him and tries to match them._

_He's blinking owlishly at me as I attempt to calm him down, but I don't know what to do, and I can't stop staring at him. He looks so different from most of the people in my kingdom, possibly more so than Armin and Mikasa. The bones of his face look even more delicate and foreign than mine do. His nose is unusually thin and graceful, and his skin is even paler in the blinding sunlight. His eyes are a unique hue of silver, and framed with dark lashes, and I watch as they blink a few more times before widening in recognition, and what I really hope isn't fear._


	2. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi gets his questions answered, and the future finally starts looking brighter, thanks to a certain golden-eyed enigma with too many secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just real fucking excited about all the immediate support/comments/kudos this got and I can't. 
> 
> I simply cannot. 
> 
> I love you all here's your reward for being absolute BABES.
> 
> Also tracking the tag #icyou on tumblr for reasons so there's that

 

> "You," I whisper, "Who are you?"

He looks around quickly, before standing up and brushing himself off. "We can talk," he says quietly, "Just not here."

I scramble to my feet and follow him, half-jogging to keep up with his long, purposeful strides. It's difficult to lose the billow of the dark red cloak, and people are quick to move out of his path in a way they would never move for me. When I distinguish the tall spire from the boxy surrounding architecture, I realize he's taking me to the bell tower again, and I can't help but feel a little nervous. What does he want from me? I don't have anything to give.

 _Don't be ridiculous_ , I chide myself, _he's saved your worthless life more than once now. He's taking you here to answer your questions._ He stands aside and holds the door open for me, and I can feel his eye on my back as I race up the stairs. I try the door at the top, but it's locked. He brushes past me, produces a key and slides it in the lock, before gesturing me into the room. It looks exactly like it did this morning, airy, dusty, and octagonal in shape with wooden floors, walls, and ceilings. I look around a second time, and notice a wooden ladder attached to the wall that leads to a small trapdoor in the ceiling. It must be how one would access the bell, but I've been in the kingdom for twenty years and I've never heard a single chime out of any of them.

The stranger pulls two worn cushions from a shadowed corner, and sets them down in front of me. I remove my cloak and sit down on the one closest, tucking my legs underneath me and wincing when my ankles pop. He sits down in parallel, folding his legs with a physical grace that immediately makes me envious. He doesn't remove his cloak or uncover his face, he just looks at me, golden eye eerily reflective in the dappled sunlight.

"Who _are_ you?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"Ah," his gaze darts to the ground and back at my face, "You go straight to the hard questions... could you ask about something else first?"

I blink. Hard questions? "What else is there to ask?"

"Well I don't know!" He throws his arms in the air. "You could ask—" his brow furrows, "not much, actually. All right!" He slaps his hands on his thighs, leaning forward with a crazed excitement in his one visible eye, and the sudden enthusiasm makes me flinch. "I have an idea. You ask me whatever you want, and I'll answer it to the best of my ability, but if I tell you I can't answer something, you can't keep pressing. Deal?"

I gape at him. His voice is muffled by the cloth in front of his mouth, and he almost speaks too fast for me to keep up. He must notice my uneasy expression, because what little I can see of his face softens. "Hey, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe here."

 _But why do you care?_ His eyebrow furrows as he cocks his head, and I realize I must have said that out loud. I want to look away. I want to look anywhere but the one golden eye currently analyzing me, but I can't make myself move. "I wasn't going to let you die," He says quietly.

"Why not?" I question, and then softer, "Why me?"

"Because," he leans back on his hands, "I saw you absolutely demolish a Kingsguard with two kicks, and I was impressed. Then I watched you stumble your way into an alley and pass out, and I was considerably less impressed." I can hear the smile in his voice and see the smirking arch of his eyebrow as he looks at the ceiling. I try not to let his teasing offend my pride, and I open my mouth to say something, but he speaks again and I snap it shut. "When I followed you to see if you were alright, you collapsed and wouldn't wake up. I even shook you around a little." He lowers his head to look at me. "In the end I carried you to see a friend of mine who has some medical knowledge. He said he couldn't believe you were still alive."

My stomach churns at his words. "What? Why? I don't understand, I just overheated a little..." His shocked expression silences me, and he leans forward until he's close enough for me to see the individual lashes framing his eye.

"You almost _died_ ," he whispers, and I'm only able to hear it because of how close he is. "You almost died because you were so intensely malnourished. When I picked you up—" he leans back again and shakes his head, "When I picked you up, I almost dropped you because even though you are very small, you shouldn't have been that light. I was surprised."

All I can do is stare at him in shock. I want to be angry at him for calling me not just small, but _very_ small, but the fact that I almost _died_ thanks to my inability to find food or work is overshadowing my offense. I almost starved to death, just like my parents did. I can see their faces, sallow and skeletal, eyes empty and lifeless. I would've looked like that, lying there in the dirt, and there isn't a soul in the world who would've noticed or cared. I look a lot like my father did, but I inherited my mothers delicate structure, so it's not hard to picture myself dead and rotting in the dusty shadows.

I don't realize I'm shaking until he grabs my hands, and I look up at his worried face. "Hey it's all right," he says softly, "There's nothing to be afraid of. You're still alive."

He doesn't understand. He _can't_ understand. "But how long until I'm not?" I say, looking down at the floor and trying to keep my voice from shaking.

I can feel his fingers applying light pressure on the joints of mine. "It depends on how long you let me help you," He says, somehow sounding both sad and hopeful at the same time. I snap my head up to look at him incredulously.

"What do you mean by that?" My words are sharper then I meant them to be. He can't help me. I don't have anything to offer him in return.

"I mean, I want you to let me help you. Let me make sure you get enough to eat and sleep under a roof and stay clean and— you get the point."

"Why," I whisper, and then again for at least the fifth time today, "Why me?"

"Because," his face softens, "You're a good person who was dealt a bad hand of cards. It's time someone showed you kindness."

I jerk my hands out of his grip, "How could you possibly know anything about me? About what kind of person I am?" I can't believe what I'm hearing. There's no possible way something like this could ever happen to me.

"I, uh, followed you. Today. I'm really very sorry for scaring you like that," he says quickly when he notices the expression on my face. "I saw you give that little girl half of your food, and I just, I don't know, we brought you back from the dead because of how starved you were, and you gave her your food, just like that, like you had everything in the world to give away, and I'm rambling aren't I?" I can see the red creeping up his cheekbone, and suddenly, I find myself wishing I could see the rest of his face too. He sighs and lifts his hand to rub at something covered by the turban before realizing he can't, and letting it drop to his thigh again. "My point is, nobody as kind as you deserves this fate. _Let me help you._ "

I shake my head vigorously. "I can't accept your charity, and I can't give you anything. Even if I wanted your help, there's no way for me to return your kindness—"

"Ah-ah," he silences me mischievously and holds up his pointer finger, "That's where you're wrong. You _can_ return my kindness!"

My stomach drops a little. I look him up and down, and shift backwards slowly. "How do you mean?" I ask hesitantly, and his eye widens before he throws his head back and laughs. I blink at him, because I've never seen someone laugh like this. I'm not a fan of loud noises, but this laughter, it's _contagious_. I'm surprised when I feel the corners of my mouth twitching up in response.

"No not like that," he gasps, "Not like that at _all_ oh _god!"_ He cackles a while longer, and I'm not sure if I should be relieved or offended by his reaction to my implication. However, I can't help it when my tiny grin grows a little wider at the shaking of his shoulders as he tries to hold back more laughter.

"You're kind of a brat, you know that?" I say wryly, and he snorts at me.

"Whatever you say— um... I never did ask for your name?" He looks a little embarrassed.

"It's Levi." The word feels strange in my mouth, its been such a long time since I've heard or said it.

"Lee-vi." He tries it out, and it feels as strange in my ears as it did in my mouth, like he's feeling the combination of syllables roll around on his tongue. "That's foreign isn't it?" He asks, "Then you must be foreign too. I've never seen anyone with skin as light as yours! Can it get any darker? Do you not want it to? Is that why you wear so much clothing?"

His assault of questions leaves me feeling overwhelmed. I haven't had a conversation of this length since Isabel and Farlan died twelve years ago, and even those were far and few between. It must show on my face again, because he snaps his mouth shut and looks at me guiltily. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding sheepish, "I suppose you could say I don't get out a lot... I'm too curious for my own good." He shifts, pulling his legs out from underneath his body and crossing them in front of him instead. He positions his elbow on the inside of his knee and props his chin comfortably on his fist. "I have an idea." He declares. "I know you're curious too, even if you hide it better than I do. So I'll ask you a question, and then you can ask me one. Deal?"

"You told me you couldn't answer all of my questions—" I start hesitantly.

"And I can't," he finishes, "but I swear whatever I do tell you will be the truth. I won't lie to you Levi, but some things need to be left unsaid."

I nod my understanding and shift to mirror his position, making myself comfortable. "Do—" I clear my throat awkwardly and try again. "Do you want to start, or should I?"

His eye lights up, and he scoots forward on his cushion. "I'll start, if you don't mind." He steeples his fingers in front of his nose. "Why do you wear so much clothing all the time? Something tells me it's not for disguise purposes, because it's hot enough right now to slow-roast you alive."

I blink at him, waiting for the real question, until I realize he's not joking. "Oh, I— I get sunburnt really easily, because I'm so pale. It's very painful, so I try to keep as much of myself covered as possible."

He tilts his head to the side, reminding me of a confused dog. "The sun can burn you?" I let out a short bark of laughter. "You have no idea." I pull up the sleeve of my shirt slightly, showing him the white belly of my forearm. "It'll turn my skin red, and if it's bad enough, it blisters. They also sting when they touch anything, even fabric."

His eye is wide with wonder, and I'm pretty sure his mouth is open behind the cloth. "How do you stand it?" He whispers incredulously, "How can you stand to be so overheated all the time? Don't you sweat?"

I smirk, "If I'm counting correctly, that was about five questions." Even with his face covered, I can tell he's smiling from ear to ear.

"All right, all right, that's fair, but at least answer this, since it's related to the subject." I nod my consent. "How do you deal with being so hot all the time?"

I tuck a stray hair back in my turban and think aloud, "I suppose I'm used to it now. I actually get cold really easily if I'm not wrapped up enough, even when the sun's out."

He nods his comprehension and folds his hands in his lap. "I understand." _You don't_ , I think, but he's already talking again. "It's your turn to ask a question. Try to pick an easy one that I'll be able to answer."

I look at my toes and try to think of something simple. "How old are you?"

He relaxes minutely. "I'm twenty, turning twenty-one soon. How old are _you_?"

"Is that your question?" I tease, raising my head to look at his face.

I watch the corner of his eye crinkle as he smiles and teases back, "Was that another one of yours?"

I snort and look to the side, unsuccessfully attempting to mask the grin that quirks the side of my mouth up. "I'm the same as you, actually. Twenty going on twenty-one.  My birthday is the same as the Prince's, it's the only reason I've been able to keep track of how old I am."

I think he flinches, but it's so quick that I can't be sure if it was real or just my eyes playing tricks on me. It's my turn to ask a question again, so I try to think of something easy that he wouldn't have to keep secret. "How are you able to take care of me while still taking care of yourself?"

He looks down and stares at his fingers, absentmindedly drawing patterns into the fabric of his clothing. "You could say I was born into a fortunate family. I actually live in the palace." He looks up to watch my face carefully as he continues. "I have access to a lot of things that are hard to come by out here."

I'm speechless. A palace worker is sitting in a dusty bell tower and playing questions with me. "Can I— can I ask another question?"

I'm pretty sure he's smiling softly as he answers, "You can ask as many questions as you like."

I twist the hem of my shirt in my fingers. "Why would you come outside the walls if you didn't have to?"

His response is immediate and surprisingly bitter. "I hate it there." I blink in surprise. Why would anyone hate being in the safety of the palace? "The atmosphere is crippling, and usually I just sneak out every once in awhile, but lately, I've been leaving as often as I can get away."

"Don't your parents worry?" _Do you even have parents?_

He snorts and looks to the side. "They like to pretend I don't exist for their own special reasons." He glances back at me, eye flicking briefly to the few strands of black hair refusing to stay in my turban, "What about your parents?"

I cringe and look away. "My parents are dead," I say quietly. "They died before my second birthday." He reaches over to squeeze my hand briefly in a gesture of silent support. He doesn't say anything, like he knows I don't want to elaborate, and in the end it's me who breaks the silence. "What do you do in the palace?"

He waves his hands non-committally in the air. "A bit of this, a bit of that, I generally help where I'm needed."

His words make me think. So many people in this kingdom need help. The royal family has done nothing to solve the poverty that holds over a third of their citizens, and there isn't usually a strange vigilante waiting to save them.

His voice cuts through my thoughts, and I realize I'd missed his question. "What?" I ask, frowning a little at the way he's staring at the ground, as if he knows he won't like the answer to what he's about to ask.

"How many people—" he cuts himself off and lifts his head to look me in the eyes. I want to back away from his haunted expression. "How many people in this kingdom are starving?"

His question surprises me at first. How could he not have _seen_ it? How could he have missed the beggars scattered around every street-corner and alleyway? The children who look like little skeletons and their parents who look worse? How could he have missed the buildings full of disgusting noises and sweaty bodies without actively trying to avoid them? _He lives in the palace_ , I silently remind myself, _He's been sheltered from this sort of thing_.

"Levi."

I snap out of my thoughts and focus on him, before answering promptly, "Too many. There are too many people starving in this Kingdom." The visible skin around his eye pales a little, but I continue anyways. "At least a third of them don't get enough to eat in a day."

I'm confused when he drops his face into his hands. Why does this upset him so much? It's not like _we_ can do anything significant for them. For every single person we could move up in the chain of poverty, there's always going to be someone forced to take their place at the bottom. His shoulders are shaking a little, and I wonder if I should try to do something, but before I can think about what to do, he jumps to his feet in an explosive motion that makes me flinch.

"I know how you can help me," He declares proudly, eye flashing like a madman's. "I can sneak food out of the palace kitchens! There's so much of it, no one will even notice it's gone!" He starts pacing back and forth in front of me. "You can help me bring them food! _Levi!_ " I jump when he shouts my name and crouches in front of me, practically vibrating with excitement. "You know where they are, right?"

"I know _what?_ " I lean away from him a little, still getting over his dramatic change in mood.

"You know where to find the people that need help, don't you?"

"I do," I say slowly, "but they're everywhere, we can't help all of th—"

"We can try!" He interrupts, jumping to his feet again. "Levi, think of all the people we could save!" He's staring at me, and I can almost see the corner of his mouth peeking out from under the fabric because of how huge his smile is. I can't help but return it with a small smile of my own.

We could help them.

We could make sure what happened to me doesn't happen to anyone else.

I do, however, think of something I hadn't considered. "Aren't you worried about getting caught?"

He scoffs playfully and looks at me like I'm being silly for even thinking of something like that. "I swear on the Prince's sparkly green eye that I won't get caught."

I grin at that, and he offers me his hand to help me to my feet. "We can do this, Levi. We are going to change things."

"We are." I can't make myself stop smiling, and his smile only grows wider.

"I have to go back to the palace before someone notices I'm gone, but you can stay here as long as you want. Sleep here too!" He strides over to the door, and I don't remember the last time I felt this excited. I haven't ever felt _giddiness_ before, and it's wonderful.

"Wait!" I call as he walks out of the room.

He pokes his head back through the doorway. "Hm? What is it?"

"I— what do I call you?"

I'm not entirely sure, but I think he grins crookedly before pulling back from the doorway and calling over his shoulder, "You can call me Rogue."

 

 

\------------------------------------

 

_The questions started right away, as soon as he'd calmed down enough to speak. He didn't seem afraid, only suspicious, maybe a little nervous while still managing to look stubborn and proud. I don't blame him. I don't exactly look friendly like this, and I hate having one of my eyes covered up, but if people recognized me, I don't know if I'd ever escape the market. As he briskly follows me to the bell tower, I try to think of what questions he's going to ask, and what answers I'm going to give him. I have no problem lying to people, but I don't want to lie to this one, not after all he's been through. I'd rather tell him nothing than something that isn't true. I hold the door open, and watch as he climbs the stairs. I'm sure he can tell that I'm staring at him, but I don't feel the need to stop. He tries the door at the top, the door that I'd locked it this morning, after he'd slipped out. I slide past him, pulling the key from my sleeve, and unlock it before gesturing him inside. I pull two cushions out from a corner, and toss them down for us to sit on. He looks nervous and I don't know what to say._

_Naturally, when he speaks, he immediately asks the one thing I don't want him to know. Who am I? Oh, I'm just the friendly and commonplace_ **_Prince of this Kingdom_ ** _, don't mind me. There's no way this man would accept help from the Prince. Even if he tries to hide it, pride is written all throughout his face and posture, and I'm going to have to work just to convince him to let... whoever I am right now to help him. He asks why I bothered to save him, and I really don't have an answer. I tell him how impressed I was when he took down the guard, but I know there's more to it than that. He fascinates me, and I don't want to think about it._

_It's my turn to be shocked speechless when he clearly has no idea how close he was to dying. It must've been some sort of trigger for him, because I watch as the blood drains from his face, making him appear impossibly paler. I grab his hands again as soon as he starts shaking. He asks again why I would choose to save him of all people, and I remember the how he gave the bread away to the girl. Someone so kind doesn't deserve to live the way he does, and I tell him as much. I'm relieved when the subject changes, and I think he is too._

_I ask about his skin, and I'm taken aback by just how easily he burns. I didn't even know the sun could burn you. As much as I hate the palace, I find myself thinking more and more that I've grown up much too privileged and sheltered. He asks about my age, and I feel myself relax at the simplicity of his question. I tell him generally how old I am, but not the specific day, and I'm relieved when he doesn't press for details._

_The relief goes away as soon as he tells me his birthday is the same as the Prince's, as mine. I have to consciously hide a flinch, and I'm not sure how successful I was. Thankfully he ignores my slip up, and asks how I can possibly afford to take care of the both of us. I want to laugh, because he has no idea how ridiculous that question is. If I chose to do so, I could treat him like royalty every day for the rest of his life and not change a single thing about the way I lived. I answer as honestly as I can, and I stay true to my promise of not lying to him. I watch him as he speaks, seeming so different than he was even yesterday. Not for the first time, I find myself wondering how many people live like him._

_I wonder how many people are starving._

_I wonder how many people have needed my family's help, and died because they were ignored. I'm horrified at the answer he gives me when I ask. One-third. One in every three people is slowly dying as they don't get enough to eat. I drop my face into my hands to try and hide my emotions. I don't know if I'm horrified or furious or a mix of the two, but I know part of this is my fault. I've never wanted the throne before. It's always been my intention to let him rule until he no longer has the ability, and as a result, I've shirked away from anything regarding the kingdom and the responsibilities that come with it. However, now that I know my father isn't doing anything with his power besides sitting on it, I find myself wishing I was turning twenty-one this very day. If I was twenty-one, I could challenge his claim to the throne and change the way people live in this kingdom. How has he not noticed? How has he not_ cared _?_

 _I can't think about this now, not without making Levi suspicious. I force down the rage I feel towards my father and myself and explode to my feet, already formulating a plan. I can steal food, and Levi knows who needs it most. When I share my thoughts, he lights up, and seems just as excited as I am. I amuse myself by swearing on my own_ painfully _distinctive green eye that I won't get caught stealing from_ myself _. In the midst of my excitement, I notice that he's smiling, really truly smiling, and it suits him. I find myself smiling back, with more enthusiasm than I've felt in a very long time._

_I deflate slightly when I realize how high the sun is in the sky, and that if I don't go back to the palace, I'll miss lunch, and then I'll never be allowed to leave. I'm running out of the room yelling over my shoulder that he can stay in the tower if he'd like, and I hear him call after me as I hit the first step. I jump backwards and stick my head through the doorway, and he asks what he should call me. I rack my brain for something that matches my mysterious appearance, and grin to myself as I saunter away, far too casually for someone who's going to be late, and toss smoothly over my shoulder, "You can call me Rogue."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun times fun times. 
> 
> Sort of. 
> 
> I can't stop writing please send help  
> Or don't  
> Because then y'all wouldn't get chapter updates at lightening speed *sunglasses emoji*
> 
> It'll slow down eventually but I really do love all of you that commented and left kudos and whatnot seriously I was grinning at my phone like a fuckin idiot for like twenty minutes. 
> 
> Okay bye see you soon give me love


	3. Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi waits for Eren to get back, and after another small round of questions, both men feel genuinely understood for the first time in a long time.
> 
> IMPORTANT: Possible Trigger: There is a brief mention of prostitution in this chapter that comes across as slightly non-con. It's literally like two sentences and there aren't any details, but just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooookayyyyyyyyy alright.  
> So this chapter is the last hyper speedy update, but I'm currently trying to write the next one in a way that doesn't make me hate myself or whatever.  
> Please enjoy, and just know yalls feedback means more to me than like anything in the world. Even if it's just a comment saying you liked it, it just.  
> It makes my entire life.  
> Thank you guys for the support and I hope you don't hate this chapter. 
> 
> Once again,
> 
> Let's fucking do this.

It's been hours, he hasn't come back yet, and I find myself growing more and more restless. I feel like I should be _doing_ something, because normally, at this time of evening, I'd be looking to help people shut their stands down, or if I couldn't find anyone willing to pay me, I'd be looking for people who had extra food they couldn't keep. The latter didn't happen very often. It was difficult to convince merchants to part from their wares without payment, but occasionally they'd realize whatever it was would spoil and get thrown out anyways.

I try not to think about my pride. I have more of it than any beggar has the right to have. I find myself having to swallow it often, when I have to actively ask people for their scraps, or when the people swathed in their fine, shiny clothes call me filthy, like they believe I've consciously made the decision to be as disgusting as I possibly can.  I work hard to stay clean, and it's difficult when all you own is one set of clothes and the ground is always covered in a layer of loose dust and sand.

Begging is horrible. If there was any other way I could survive, I would do it in a heartbeat, but I will gladly let myself starve before I ever sell my body.

I've only done that once, and I felt so revolted by myself that I vomited up what little I had in my stomach immediately afterwards. I didn't feel clean for weeks.

I was thirteen years old.

I still remember how much it hurt.

I'd had a couple panicked episodes before that, but afterwards, I started having them more and more frequently. I don't know what triggers them, but they always happen at the worst times. I'm not scared of anything anymore; I know how to fight, everyone I've ever loved is already dead, and I've already accepted the fact that I'm doomed to slowly starve until I die. I have nothing to be scared of, but I have grown to hate being alone.

Being alone couldn't possibly be the trigger. I'm alone all the time and I'm not stuck in a perpetual state of panic. I wish there was another phrase for a panic attack that wasn't "panic attack". I hate how weak it makes me feel, like I'm afraid of everything, even my own stupid fears. However, weak or not, they would be easier to deal with and avoid if I knew what caused them. I don't know why I'm so worked up right now. Over the years, I've gotten used to my fate and resigned myself to the fact that I'd never be able to change it. Why am I so agitated?

Oh, that's right.

I've been given hope. This golden-eyed brat plucked me from the jaws of death and gave me hope. He gave me hope that things could change for the better. That maybe, _just_ maybe, I won't be alone anymore.

I'd like to give it back.

Hope is a dangerous thing, because it makes you care. I don't _want_ to care. If I start caring about what happens to me, I'll start being afraid of dying again. I don't want to die, I really don't, but I'm not going to be afraid of death. I refuse to waste my sad excuse of a life being afraid of the inevitable.

 _But what if it's not inevitable anymore?_ A small voice in the back of my mind whispers to me. _What if the deal you've made with him never ends?_ For one second, I consider what would happen if I stayed fed and warm and clean like I am now for the rest of my life.

It would be heaven.

It would be starkly different from the way I've lived so far, and it would be completely and entirely unrealistic.

This won't last forever. Eventually, Rogue will grow tired of me, and realize his time is better spent messing around in the safety and luxury of the palace, rather than wasting food and risking his life by _stealing from the Sultan_ to help the unfortunate with me, a not-so-proud member of the unfortunates. However, if I've learned anything from being stuck on the streets for so long, it's that you can never be too fortunate. Even if Rogue gets bored of me, for now, he's keeping me alive and more importantly _clean_ , and all I have to do is help him feed the starving. It's too good to be true, and yet, here I am, with a full stomach and skin cleaner than it's been in years.

I've tried to get over my intense need to be clean, because someone who _literally sleeps in the dirt_ can't afford to worry about such ridiculousness in the face of more important things, like not dying. I never could make myself get over it, and I came to realize that I'm infinitely more panicky when I'm covered in filth.

I'm not covered in filth right now. In fact, I think this is the most sanitary I've been since Isabel and Farlan died. I hadn't even _seen_ soap since then until earlier this morning. The bucket is still in the corner actually, and I edge my way over to it, eyeing the cloth floating in the still soapy water. I shiver in excitement as I shed my shirt and turban and pick up the cloth. The water isn't as warm as it was, in fact, it's barely warmer than my skin, but it's still clean, and I still want to sob with relief as the texture of the cloth drags down my neck. It's pathetic how much this calms me, I'm actually ashamed of the sighs escaping my mouth.

"If I'd known it made you so happy, I would've brought new water."

I whirl around with a yelp, and the cloth flies out of my hand. I distantly hear a wet smack as it hits the floor, but I'm too stunned to move thanks to the tall figure cloaked in red casually leaning against the doorframe, golden eye twinkling with mirth. He saunters forward, and I'm unfrozen by the movement, after what feels like a lifetime. I scramble for my shirt and try to yank it on over my head, but my hair catches on one of the buttons, and I let out a grunt as a few black strands are yanked out of my head. When the fabric is no longer blocking my vision, I see Rogue, holding out my turban cloth and looking like he's trying his hardest not to laugh.

I snatch it from him and turn away, wrapping the turban tight enough to press my ears painfully hard against my skull. I don't know why I'm upset, this is technically his home, but some part of my brain wants to snarl at this brat who's currently grinning at me like an overexcited dog. I open my mouth to do just that, but it snaps shut when he holds up a finger. Now _all_ of my brain wants to snarl at this brat, but my anger dissipates at the sight of the loaf of bread he's slipping out of the fabric under his arm.

This bread is different than the last loaf, it's darker and grainier, with little seeds dotting the top. It smells different too, but my mouth still waters at the yeasty aroma. I don't realize that I'm staring until I hear a chuckle, and flick my eyes up to see his glinting down at me.

"You're in a fine mood," I grumble as he presses the bread into my hands. He laughs, and I shuffle my feet, unsure if now is a good time to tear into this beautiful treasure I'm currently cradling like a small child. He laughs again and closes the fabric sack.

"I'm always in a fine mood! You're just being grumpy."

"You've known me for all of a day. How do you know grumpy isn't just my natural state?"

"You make a good point." He drops into the wooden chair behind him, and his face sobers significantly, playfulness nowhere to be seen in his eye as he looks at me, analyzing me from top to bottom. "How are you? How do you feel? You can eat that, you know," He adds with a wave of his hand.

I sink to the floor and fold my legs underneath me before tearing a small piece of bread off the end of the loaf. I'm fine. Better than I've ever been actually. But I can't make myself answer his questions. I'm still working on getting over the fact that I'm a charity case. I suppose I'm _always_ a charity case, seeing as I literally beg for a living, but it seems so much more _pathetic_ when a single person has decided to feed me, clothe me, and generally tend to me like I'm a child that needs special care. I just nod, and I'm grateful when he doesn't say anything more.

In the end, it's me who breaks the silence with a quiet thanks, and the only acknowledgement I get from him is the corner of his eye crinkling slightly as he looks at the lofted wooden beams of the ceiling, illuminated by the waning dusty rays of sunlight. After I clear my throat awkwardly and twist the fabric of my shirt, he finally speaks.

"I was thinking that we could start tomorrow— giving people food I mean. I talked to my friend Armin, and he said something simple would be best. I hope you don't mind, by the way, that I've only brought you bread, but he said the richness of palace food can really mess up your stomach if you're not used to it, and—what?"

I'm staring at him with my mouth open. Did he really just apologize? I can't believe this. _He saved my life_ , and he feels guilty because he's only brought me bread? Oh. Oh dear. How will I ever stand it. The monotony of my otherwise so well-rounded diet. I don't think I can take this much longer, really.

"Are you joking?" He only blinks in response. "Are you _actually_ feeling guilty for only bringing me— are you telling me you— I'm _alive_ because of you! You think I _care_ what food you bring me? You've given me more in a day then I've had in a _month_. I've seen people _die of starvation_. I will _never_ complain about food of _any_ kind, _ever_. Don't you _dare_ apologize."

He looks shocked at my outburst, and frankly, I'm a little shocked too. I don't regret a word, what he said was completely stupid and borderline offensive, and I don't feel apologetic in the least. I feel _liberated_. It's been a long time since I've been able to speak like this, speak at all, to anyone really, and it feels nice to know I won't get slapped or arrested for opening my mouth. It's also been a long time since I've been irritated with someone for a reason other than how they look at me. There are children dying on the streets, and Rogue thinks I'm offended because he's only brought me bread. Incredible.

I barely hear his quiet "I'm sorry," through the fabric of his face wrap, but he looks upset enough to make up for the lack of volume. I nod curtly and study the floor, methodically tearing off small chunks of bread and chewing them slowly. I can feel his eye on me, but I can't make myself meet it. "Do you still want to help me?" He asks softly.

I snort disdainfully. "Of course I do."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him tilt his head to the side, and as I finally force myself to look up at him, his face wrap droops enough to reveal the upturned corner of his mouth. I find myself staring at it, wishing he didn't cover his face. Such an odd face, there's something off about it, but I can't determine what that could possibly be. Could he be deformed? Ashamed of his own appearance? His bones don't look wrong necessarily, just _different_ , and his visible skin is unblemished, but I have no idea what's hidden by the cloth. He straightens up all too soon, and I quickly look away as he tucks the loose fabric more securely into the other folds of the turban.

"I like you when you're grumpy," He remarks airily, dropping his hands back to his lap, "You're more expressive that way." I don't know how to respond to that, so I stay silent. I'm naturally snarky. It was this way with Isabel and Farlan too, I just haven't had someone to interact with in a very long time. I suppose it's because I don't feel shy around him anymore. Right now I just feel defensive and prickly. I hope the feeling will go away tomorrow, when I'm actually being productive instead of just sitting uselessly on the floor and eating.

"How long are you staying?" I ask around a mouthful of bread. It really is delicious, soft and flavorful, accompanied by the quiet crunch of little seeds between my teeth.

"Only for a few more minutes. I just wanted to bring you food and make sure you were still all right."

It's ridiculous really, how many times I've been rendered speechless today because of Rogue. My mouth opens and shuts a couple of times before managing to choke out a weak "thank you". I wonder if he'll let me ask any more questions, just to initiate a conversation that _isn't_ about how pathetic I am.

"Can I ask you more questions?"

"Of course," he says with a nod and leans back in the chair. I think about what to ask him, because I didn't exactly have anything in mind. I speak without thinking, and what I ask surprises me.

"Tell me about your family?" I don't know why I asked about that. I wish I wouldn't have, because he sighs softly and let's his head fall back against the chair. I try to correct myself and ask something different, but he's already speaking, eyes locked on the ceiling.

"I can't tell you everything, but I'll tell you the simple version of the sad sob story about my relationship with my parents if you'd care to hear it." I nod once in response, curiosity winning out over my reluctance to pry. I section off the remaining bread into little bite sized pieces, trying to stay quiet, like if I shatter this silence, he'll change his mind and refuse to tell me anything. The sun is almost set now, and the murky waning light is filtering through the high windows and throwing his face into a shadow. He sighs quietly once more, and begins speaking in a quiet, even voice. "My father wasn't married to my mother. His wife was very angry with him when she found out that not only had he been unfaithful, he'd impregnated the woman he'd been unfaithful with."

He directs his gaze at me, and the telltale crinkle of his eye indicative of a grin is accompanied by a tilt of his eyebrow. I can't even offer a response to his words, I can only stare at his sad smile and listen. "They couldn't have a child you see," he continues, "and their marriage was arranged and loveless. My father has never been a strong man, he was too weak to resist the beauty and kindness of my mother, and he fell in love with her. After I was born, his wife demanded that either she or I be exiled from this land, and my mother killed herself to spare my father the choice. He never truly recovered, and he can't stand the sight of me because of how much I look like _her_. His wife can't stand the sight of me either, because in her eyes I am only a reminder of both her failure to have children and my father's unfaithfulness."

He's staring at his knees now, eye fiery with unfamiliar resentment, and I wish I had the right words to give him. My parents may be gone, but I know they loved me until the day they died. I can't decide if it is worse to have parents that hate you, or no parents at all. I lean forward and hesitantly touch the back of his hand with my fingertips. His eye flicks up to mine, and the corner crinkles again, just slightly as he offers a small smile. "I shouldn't have asked," I say quietly, "I'm sorry."

His smile grows and he shakes his head slightly. "I don't mind at all. I'm sure your story is much worse than mine." I grimace. He's right, but at least I'm not constantly re-living my parents death. The hurt has faded with the years that have passed since it happened. He still faces his parents abhorrence on a daily basis, and I can't imagine how that feels.

"It happened a long time ago," I murmur. "It doesn't hurt so much anymore." I realize my fingertips haven't moved from his hand and I jerk them back quickly.

"That doesn't mean you aren't still affected by it," He responds softly. I shift uncomfortably at the kindness in his tone. I don't want his sympathy, and I don't want to talk about how a poor little starving boy watched his parents die right in front him. Rogue doesn't need to feel any more sorry for me than he already does.

"What do your parents do in the palace?" I change the subject, hoping he'll forget about me and my issues. The way his eyebrow lowers into a frown tells me he won't, but he'll let it go for now.

"I can't answer that question," He says carefully, regarding me with a guarded look in his glinting eye. Out of all the questions I could've asked him, I didn't think this one would be something he couldn't answer.

"All right. The day you found me, why did you leave the palace in the first place?" He visibly relaxes at the change of subject, and I am slightly suspicious about his secrecy, but he promised he wouldn't lie. I suppose I'd rather not know anything than know something that wasn't true.

"I have a few friends that live a little ways from here, and I was paying them a visit— oh _hell_ , has the sun set already?" He bolts up from the chair and digs around in his sleeves before tossing a box to me. "Those are matches, there are candles in the sconces on the walls if you need light! I'm sorry to be leaving so quickly, but I'll see you in the morning!" His words fade as he runs down the stairs, and I hear the slam of the door as he shuts it behind him. I walk to the window and see his dark shape darting quickly through the dimly lit streets as he streaks towards the palace. I wonder what his parents really do, and why he couldn't tell me. I come up with ridiculous theories as I strike the matches against the wall and stand on my tiptoes to light the fat candles nestled in their sconces; I hadn't realized how dark it was without the sun, and I'm grateful for the soft glow they provide. Maybe his parents are spies for the kingdom and no one can discover their true identities? Maybe they're the Sultan's advisors and Rogue can't speak of their work because he fears an assassination attempt? Maybe _they're_ the assassins? I shake my head to clear away the ludicrous thoughts. I'm sure they're perfectly normal people, although based on the story Rogue told me, they're not overly fond of each other.

I've lit all the candles, and as I'm walking over to push the chair to where it was against the wall, I step on something damp, and jump backwards with a yelp. I look at the floor and see the washcloth I'd thrown in my shock earlier. I sigh and bend to pick it up, and notice that the floor is a different color where the washcloth had been. My nose wrinkles as I bend over again to drag the cloth across the floor, and when I look at the blackened section of the fabric that had been pressed against the wood, I scoff in disgust. This floor is revolting.

If I'm going to live here, it's going to be clean. I've spent too long sleeping on the dirt, and now that I have a choice in the matter, there's no way I'm going to continue to do so. I wrap a section of my turban around my mouth and drop to my hands and knees, dragging the bucket over from where it's sitting a few feet away. As I dip the washcloth into the cold, soapy water and scrub the floor, I feel the satisfying pressure in my elbows and shoulders that comes with scrubbing something raw. The swirling grain of the wood is much more visible as I wash the layers of dirt away, and I enter a sort of mindless bliss until I realize that I'm at the other wall, my arms feel like they're going to fall out of their sockets, the water is almost gone, and the washcloth is filthy. I push back on my haunches to examine my work, and I smile at the now shining floors.

It's dim in this room; the candles aren't giving off much light with how low their wicks are burning. Much to my chagrin, I'm too short to blow them out, so I walk over to my orderly nest of blankets and collapse on top of it. My eyes slip shut without me having to prompt them, and the soapy smell of my hands is lulling me into what I'm suspecting will be the most comfortable bout of unconsciousness I've ever experienced. My last thought before I lose myself is that it's nice to be able to fall asleep without having to wonder if I'll wake up again.

 

\------------------------------------

 

_My stepmother was furious with me. She told me I had no business being anywhere that wasn't inside the palace walls. There are times like this when I curse my father for bringing me into the world. I don't think she would hate me so much if I was her own child. I stay silent until she's done shouting at me, and then I stand up, bow respectfully, and leave the room without saying a word. She hates it when I do that, when I don't fight back, but I've learned she can't complain to my father when I give her nothing to complain about. I throw open the massive double doors that lead to the front gardens and stride through them purposefully. The guards never bother me if I look busy. Today is no exception, and they silently salute as I pass them. I offer no acknowledgement as I walk briskly to the guardshed, and when I walk inside, I am not alone. The hulking commander of the Kingsguard sits on the chair in the corner, calmly sipping tea out of a cup that is dwarfed by his giant hand. He gives me a smart look that I ignore as I walk through the door at the back of the room. I change out of my white silks and into the dark red I wear whenever I set foot out of the castle, and store the silks in a chest that never leaves the corner. Erwin nods at me as I leave through the door that opens on the other side of the wall, and I nod in return. He's the only person in the palace that's aware of what I do outside the walls. I told him about Levi, and he doesn't approve of the stealing I plan to do, but he's just as appalled as I am at the sheer amount of people starving in the kingdom; apparently I'm not the only one Grisha is hiding things from. He also has the guard who harassed Levi in the market mucking out stables for the next three months. Erwin's one of the only people in this palace that I can stand to talk to, and he's more of a father figure to me than my father has ever been._

_I'm almost at the bell tower now, and I'm struck by the horrible thought that Levi could have left. He could have decided he doesn't want anything to do with me, and walked out of the bell tower without looking back. The mere though makes me feel sick. I go up the stairs, and prepare for the worst, but when I open the door, the sight I'm met with makes me choke back a laugh. He's washing himself again, and he looks blissfully content, head tilted back with little sighs escaping his mouth. I grin and lean against the doorframe. "If I would've known it made you so happy, I would've brought new water."_

_I have to try again not to laugh as he screeches in surprise and throws the cloth in the air. I walk towards him as he scrambles for his shirt, and I decide to be a gentleman and hand him his turban cloth. He snatches it from me with a growl, and if his facial expression is anything to go by, I'm failing miserably at looking unamused. He's generally irritable today, but I don't mind. It's endearing really, and it's nice to see him with so much spirit, considering he was half dead when I first met him. He brightens when I pull the loaf of bread out of my jacket, and I think I'm forgiven for clearly trying not to laugh at him. I feel guilty for only bringing him bread, but he gets very angry when I apologize for it. I know he's right, I just forget that people outside of the palace walls don't have the luxury of variety. I want more than anything to take Levi inside the palace and show him what it's like. Maybe if he asks, I'll describe it to him. He has more questions, and I agree to answer them, prepared for anything._

_He asks about my family._

_I wasn't prepared for that._

_I can't tell him everything. I'm not even sure if I know everything to begin with. I settle with telling him about my how my father fell in love and ruined both of our lives with his unfaithfulness. I'm caught up in the emotions I always feel when I talk about my parents, but I snap out of my anger and depression immediately when cold fingertips press gently against the back of my hand. I look up to meet silver eyes filled with more understanding than anyone's ever shown me. I smile at him, just to assure him that it's old news, that I've resigned myself to the way my parents treat me, and then I realize I'm upset over something extremely insignificant. Levi doesn't have any parents. I can't even imagine what happened to them, but his story must be much worse than mine. I feel so stupid, like a spoiled little boy complaining about his birthday presents._

_When I ask about his parents, he doesn't want to tell me. I respect his wishes, but I won't forget about it, if that was his intention of changing the subject so quickly. He asks me about what it is my parents do, and there's no way I can answer him without lying, so I don't answer at all. I can see suspicion flash through his eyes briefly, but he doesn't press, like he promised me he wouldn't. He asks about why I even left the palace, and just as I start to tell him about Armin and Mikasa, I realize the sun is no longer in the sky. I've been in the palace for a total of three hours since I woke up this morning because I've been spending so much time with Levi._

_My stepmother is going to have me killed._

_I call out a hurried apology and sprint out the door, jumping down the steps three at a time. As I sprint back to the palace, I take pleasure in the way my dark cloak blends with the shadows. I slink through the door in the wall using the key Erwin gave me, and I quickly change back into the white silks I left in the trunk before racing my way back to the massive double doors that lead inside the palace. No one notices me sneaking through the vaulted entryway, and our late dinner hasn't been served yet. I manage to slip into the dining room and seat myself gracefully on the silken cushions moments before my stepmother walks into the room, followed closely by my father. I was here before they arrived, they have no reason to chastise me, and none of us appear to be sick or dying, which leads me to one singular conclusion._

_Dinner will be silent._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too bad? Horrible? Amazing? Let me know. I honestly have no time frame for the next update, but it's probably going to happen by at least this weekend.
> 
> Busy college student is busy. 
> 
> Okay I love you guys see you soon  
> Also tumblr? bitchflavoredicecube hit me up I'm very lonely 
> 
> Okay bye for real and cyber-hugs for all.


	4. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi is told some things he needs to hear, and Eren learns how not to comfort someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAAAAAAAAAA SURPRISE BITCH
> 
> Just kidding it's only been like a week and I've been hauling ass to get this to y'all. 
> 
> No no it's fine it's good read my stuff and give me love. Also harrass me on tumblr @bitchflavoredicecube
> 
> Please I'm so lonely. 
> 
> Alright enjoy see you later

I could definitely get used to waking up warm like this. My eyes open slowly, only to squint when the bright sunlight streaming in from the windows is too much to handle. I stretch my arms above my head and yawn softly, still drowsy and warm with sleep. I look around, blinking stupidly in the harsh light, and my eyes land on a bucket with steam curling away from the top of it. There's a large fabric rucksack in the corner, and I turn around, already knowing what I'll see.

"Morning, Sunshine." He's sitting down, leaning against the wall with his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. "I know how much you like those buckets—"

"Shut up." I interrupt, still not awake enough to deal with his teasing. He closes his mouth, but his eye still glitters playfully in the sunlight, and he's definitely wearing a smug little grin under all that dark cloth. I push myself to my feet, enjoying the feeling of my heels and toes waking up against the wooden floorboards, and make my way over to the bucket. It smells wonderful, different than the last one, but still just as clean. "How did you manage to get all this in here without waking me up?" I call to him over my shoulder.

"I only arrived about ten minutes ago, you didn't wake up at the noise. I did try to be quiet, you need the deep sleep." He uncrosses his ankles and pushes himself to his feet. "I suppose you'll not want me in here while you clean up, so I'll be back in twenty minutes. That should leave you enough time to _thoroughly_ enjoy yourself." When he pairs his words with a wiggle of his eyebrow, I yank my shirt off and throw it at him with a growl. He laughs as it hits him in the face, and folds it before setting it down on my blankets and walking towards the door.

"You know," he's paused in the doorway, looking at me over his shoulder, "that was a dangerous move. I could've kept that shirt, and then where would you have been?" He leaves me with my mouth hanging open and heat creeping up my cheeks at the thought of running around shirtless. It immediately loses its embarrassment, however, when I think of how quickly I'd be sunburnt. As soon as I hear the lower door slam, I strip the rest of the clothing off my body and try to restrain myself from dumping the entire bucket over my head. As much as I hate him teasing me about it, this is the best thing anyone's ever done for me, and I could almost jump around like a ridiculous idiot because of how happy being clean makes me. _He gave me warm, soapy water_. I'm not sure I have the emotional capability to be any more ecstatic.

I sigh my appreciation as the fragrant water drips from the washcloth, down my back and chest,  pooling around my feet on the wooden floor. I don't think I'll ever get used to how _wonderful_ this feels, being so clean. My life has changed so much, just in the span of a few days, and it's terrifying, because the more comfortable I get, the more broken it will leave me when it's taken away. I'm down to my feet now, and I scrub them until they're red and sore from the attention, because feet are disgusting, and _my_ feet are especially disgusting. I wish I had shoes. They aren't really necessary at this point, I've long since grown callouses to keep them from bleeding or blistering, but it would be nice if I could avoid getting them dirty, especially when they're newly clean. I've also learned from experience that callouses can't save you from broken glass, no matter how thick they are. I think Rogue has shoes. I'm almost positive he wears a pair of black leather boots, similar to the boots that the Kingsguard wear actually. I remember when one of them stepped on me and broke three of the toes on my right foot. It was more frustrating than painful, because without those three tiny bones, that entire foot was absolutely useless. I've long since forgotten his face, but I've never forgotten his boots.

I drop the cloth into the water and start dressing myself back into the soft, green shirt and pants, shaking my hair dry before wrapping it up in the turban again.

This will all be gone the second he's through with me.

One of these days he's not going to come back with food and soapy water, but words and scorn. He'll tell me that it's been lovely, but I'm not worth the trouble or effort. Then he'll walk out that door without a backwards glance, and I'll be alone again, trying my best to stay alive. _You'll be alone_ , my mind echoes, _alone, alone, alone_. I'm not alone right now. I'll be fine, Rogue will come back, and everything will be fine. _Where is he now? Where did he go? How do you know he's coming back?_ There are too many questions. All these words in my head have set my hands shaking, and somewhere in the back of my thoughts I'm angry, because I've been so _in-control_ the last two days, but that notion is swept away by a fast, cold wave of panic. I stumble to the side, tripping over the bucket and spilling water everywhere before I manage to sink against the wall and put my head in my hands. I can feel how hard I'm shaking, but I can't _stop_ it and that should make me _angry_ but it only makes me shake _harder_. I flinch at the slam of a door against a wall and try to tuck my head even farther into my knees. It'll stop eventually, I just have to wait it out. I can ignore the questions and the fear. It's a matter of will. I'm strong. I know I'm strong. I'll be fine. There are hands on my shoulders, but I'm not going to move. It's only ever worse if I try to move. Now the hands are on the back of my neck, trying to snake under my jaw, and my ears are ringing with the sound of my own name. When the hands start trying to pry my fingers away from my face, I am swallowed by a white noise that completely drowns my senses. I lash out with nails and fists, feeling hot satisfaction flash briefly through my frenzied anger when I connect with something solid. Whatever it was hits the ground, and the hands are gone, but a few seconds later, they return, different this time, completely contrasting their first attack. They're soft, soothing as they run over my shoulders and back, not taking or prying, only giving. The cold slowly drains out of my stomach, and there's something large and solid pressing against my back as the hands travel up to the nape of my neck. I tense, ready to lash out at the slightest sign of threat, but they only move across the skin there, back and forth, very slowly. I'm surrounded by this firm warmth, and finally, _finally_ , I can feel myself relax. The whiteness and the ringing all melts away. I remember where I am, and I know there's only one person who could be trying to help me right now. I take a deep breath and turn around, only to be greeted with a worried eyebrow over a tightly closed eye, surrounding area slowly turning dark and oozing blood from where the skin split over his cheekbone.

"Are you all right?" He asks, hands searching blindly for my shoulders. "Levi, answer me please."

I can't speak, because looking at his eye, all bloodied and bruising, and knowing _I_ did that makes me feel sick to my stomach. I twist around the rest of the way and back away from him until my spine hits the wall again. Oh _god_ there's no way he's staying now. He'll be gone before I'm even be able to stand up. He squints through his swollen eye, and looks over at me, and I'm steeling myself for his inevitable scorn, but it never comes. He scoots over towards me and grabs my shoulders, gaze no less direct, even with the injury _I_ caused.

"Levi, are you okay? You're frightening me, please at least answer the question." He sounds desperate, and the only response I can offer is in a quiet, pathetically horrified voice.

" _I_ did that."

Rogue somehow manages to look surprised, and he releases my shoulders, raising his fingers up to brush against the skin of his cheekbone before giving me a guilty, rueful look.

"I'm a fool. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that. You were only protecting yourself."

"But—"

"Really, I'm okay. It's not the first time I've been hit, and it certainly won't be the last. It was an accident. I'll be fine, stop fussing." I stare at my toes, still mortified, and try not to hate myself, but his voice interrupts my thoughts, serious and commanding, still worried."For the thousandth time Levi, _are you all right?_ "

"I'm fine," I snap, frustrated and angry at how kind he's being. I glance up at his face, wincing at the now dark purple bruises and the dried blood, but he's managed to open his eye to the point that I can see his flashy gold iris, even brighter now in contrast to his battered cheekbone. He stares intently at me, and I immediately realize that he can see right through my words. I'm not fooling him, he knows something went wrong, and he knows I'm lying to him about being alright.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

I growl at his gentle tone, hoping that he can translate that into _no, I don't want to talk about anything, and I don't want to talk to you_. I stand up and walk to the other side of the room, trying to distance myself from him as much as possible without actually leaving, because even now, I'm too pathetic to stand the thought of being alone. A few minutes later, he joins me on the other side of the room, sitting down with a huff and leaning against the wall. He obviously has no concept of _distance_ , so I shoot him a look and walk away.

"I'm sorry."

Those words stop me in my tracks. I whirl around and march over to stand in front of him. I'm furious, and I don't even know why. "What is _wrong_ with you?!" I have no reason to yell at him, but he still looks chastised. "Why are you doing this? How long until I'm not your interesting little charity project anymore? I still don't understand why someone like you would _ever_ help someone like me, and I don't want to get used to this if it's only going to get taken away!"

"What are you _talking_ about? Where did this even _come from_?" He's standing now, clearly taken aback by my anger and trying to keep his own in control. _I'm_ taken aback by my anger, but I can't stop the words from coming out of my mouth.

"It's been two days. _Two. Days_. And I already can't imagine going back to how I was before! I wasn't happy, but I wasn't scared either. I wasn't afraid of dying, and I wasn't afraid of being alone, but now I can't even think about those things without losing my sanity! That's why I was on the ground when you came back. I can't stand not knowing when you're going to decide it's too much work to deal with me, and when that does happen, I'll be alone again, with nothing. And it'll be even worse than it was when I had nothing before, because now I know what it's like to have _something_."

He's staring at me like I've grown another head, and I feel drained. I have nothing left to say. I really am pathetic. I look away, off to the side where I can't feel his scrutiny.

"Look at me." I don't move. I don't want to hear what he has to say.

"Levi, _look at me_." I snap my glare over to him, silently fuming and preparing to tell him to leave. "I told you all of this the first day we talked. I promised I'd never lie to you, so you have to believe me when I say you're not alone anymore." I take a step back. I don't understand how he _does_ that. He roots out exactly what's bothering me and gives me all the right reasons to why it shouldn't. He makes me feel _vulnerable_ , something I never felt living on the streets.

"Also, you're not a charity project. You're helping me remember?"

"That doesn't—"

"It does, and I'm not finished. When I came in here and saw you on the ground, I was scared. I didn't know what happened or if you were hurt, but in my incompetence I only made it worse. I tried to force and push and pry, and it frightened you. It's not your fault you lashed out."

"I'm not some prey animal that's scared of the smallest noises." I snap, growing less furious, but more and more irritated.

"I never said you were. What I'm trying to say is that I was so scared because you're my _friend_. You're important to me. I'm not going to abandon my friend, not now, not ever. I'll be around until you decide you don't want me anymore."

He has this _way_ of making me feel incredibly stupid while being as kind as possible. "I hate you." I mumble lamely, looking off to the side.

I can hear the smile in his voice when he responds, "I know." He walks over to his giant rucksack and fishes out a couple of mangos. "Are you hungry?" He doesn't even wait for me to answer the question before tossing one to me, and I surprise even myself with the ease that I snatch it out of the air. Mangos are delicious. Farlan bought one for me a long time ago, and one particularly generous woman gave me one when I helped her with her washing. Rogue walks back over to me and bites into his mango. I realize he's pulled his mouth-cover down, but there's still fabric that goes across his nose and under his visible eye. His teeth are straight, much straighter than mine, and when he grins at me ridiculously with mango juice running down his chin, I have to conceal a laugh with a disgusted snort, but as I look away, I can't stop the corners of my mouth from turning up.

It's been a long time since I've had a friend.

 

\-------

 

I told him I wanted mangos every day until I died and the brat's only response was, 'That's a lot of mangos.' I wasn't exaggerating. I'm actually ashamed of some of the noises I was making while I ate it, but it was _perfect_. I could simply drag my teeth down the fruit, and I'd come away with golden juicy flesh practically _melting_ in my mouth. He was amazed how clean I stayed while I ate it, and asked me what my secret was. I answered with a straight face, 'Didn't you know all beggars have impeccable table manners?' I can still hear him snorting with laughter behind me as I stare out one of the windows, and I haven't stopped grinning, feeling rather clever and proud of myself.

"Did you— Did you clean in here?" I turn around to see him studying the floorboards with an incredulous look on his face.

"Did you just notice?" I say, smirking at his surprise.

"Don't get me wrong, it looks amazing, but _why_?" He's trailing along the outsides of the room now, looking at the shiny baseboards.

I shrug, even though he's not looking. "I like things clean." Massive, _massive_ understatement. It _calms_ me to have things clean. It's _soothing_ to have things clean. I may _literally peel the skin off my body_ if I don't have things clean.

The water from the bucket I spilled has long since dried from the floorboard with the help of  the blinding sunlight, and to my immense pride, it only makes the room look cleaner. Rogue is still babbling off in the corner about how shiny the wood looks and how did you manage with a bucket of water and a piece of cloth and this is really impressive where did you learn to do this... And so on and so forth. It does feel nice to be appreciated. Looking out the window and watching the kingdom from above isn't nearly as bad as living in it. The buildings all look as if they were pulled from molten sand and left to bake in the sun, and the bright golds and purples of the merchant's carts decorate every street I can see. Even the brothels look better from here. The stark white and gold of the palace looms above everything, its massive, flared towers casting long shadows across their domain, a constant reminder of who is in control. The same question always rushes into my head like the wind whenever I look at it. _Where are they?_ All those powerful people, holed up in their white-walled sanctuary and unwilling to worry themselves with the trivial affairs of their subjects. It's despicable. Even the bastard Prince, beautiful and beloved by his people, does nothing. I don't understand how the Prince won the love of his subjects when all he's done is flash his sparkling eyes and dance in the Sultan's parades. But of course, I'm being silly. What else would he really have to do besides look and act pretty? People are simple, it's why he's so popular with everyone.

I remember seeing it myself. Ironically enough, it's one of the last good memories I have with Isabel and Farlan. There were so many people in the streets that day. Farlan was taller than both of us, being two years older than Isabel and I. We took turns climbing on his back to see the massive golden litter holding the Sultan and his wife safely inside, where they waved solemnly at their subjects. I knew there was a Prince, but it wasn't until I looked up that I found him. He was standing atop the elephant leading the parade, laughing and dancing in his splendid barefoot glory. He hadn't seen me, but I had seen him, and I was jealous of the way he moved, of his confidence and grace. I wanted to be the one on that elephant, dancing and laughing for the world to see. I wanted to feel that _happiness_. The people loved him. Everyone was throwing flowers and waving their scarves, and he ate it all up, bowing regally to his fans while managing to stay balanced on the back of the moving elephant. The Sultan didn't seem to notice his antics, but his wife did. It was easy to see their faces, they weren't getting nearly as much attention as Prince Eren. He was too far away for me to make out his face or the color of his eyes, but I could see the visage of the Sultan's wife as if she were right in front of me, scornful and pinched with disdain for her husband's bastard child.

Isabel told me that the Prince's mother must have been very beautiful to produce a son like that. She was always swooning over him, gushing about his eyes or how kind he was, lamenting about how rotten his stepmother must be to treat him so badly. During her episodes of feminine wailing, Farlan would always mutter something along the lines of _I don't see this wonderful Prince bringing us any food._ They would chatter back and forth like angry bats, arguing about his various qualities while I looked on in amusement.

"Levi?" Rogue's voice cuts through my reminiscing, and I turn around to see him standing in the middle of the room with his giant rucksack. "Shall we start today?" He opens the mouth of the fabric bag to reveal more food than I've ever seen in one place. There's types of bread I've never even _seen_ before, at least two dozen mangos, and bunches of small, round purple things I don't recognize.

"What are those?" I gesture to the dark clusters of what I'm beginning to suspect are some kind of fruit. He looks down into his bag before looking back up at me, confusion evident in his expression.

He grabs a handful of the orbs and holds them out to me. "These?" I nod. He pulls one from the stem it's attached to and pops it in his mouth. It crunches softly between his teeth, and he steps over the bag to stand in front of me. He plucks one of the little spheres out of his palm and wordlessly raises his fingers. I raise my own hand to meet his, but I'm too late. He wasn't trying to hand it to me. He's pressed it against my mouth, and I feel heat creeping unbidden up my neck and onto my cheeks. I'm fairly sure his cheekbone is slightly flushed as well, but it's hard to tell under all the damage I did to his face. Even if he's feeling as suddenly flustered as I am, he doesn't break eye contact, and he doesn't move the little orb away from my lips. Something twinges sharply in my stomach, like a string being wound up and plucked until the frequency vibrates all through my chest and bounces around in my ribcage, looking for an escape. I part my lips and accept the fruit, unable to look away from his burning gold stare. As soon as I bite into it however, everything that happens next feels like it occurs in slow motion.

I had no idea it would explode into liquid, and frankly, it caught me by surprise. I shriek in alarm, spitting the offending object out of my mouth, and I can only watch, frozen in horror as it flies towards his face. His eye widens when he realizes he won't be able to dodge in time, and neither of us can move as it hits him directly in the center of his cloth-covered forehead and falls to the ground at our feet. We stare at each other unblinkingly for what feels like an eternity before his eye twitches. It happened so quickly I thought I'd imagined it, but then it happened again. His mouth cover is still down, and the second the corner of his lips curls into a grin, we're both laughing. He's doubled over, holding his stomach and roaring his amusement, and I've fallen on the floor, flat on my back, cackling at the ceiling hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. The moment we both think we're under control, all it takes is one glance at each other to lose it all over again. I'm trying desperately to catch my breath, but he completely ruins my attempt when he stumbles backwards, steps on his own cloak, and ends up sprawled on the floor next to me, laughing even harder. My chest is heaving at this point, begging me to _just take a breath_. Rogue is in a similar state next to me, holding his stomach and gasping like his life depends on it. We lay there for a couple of minutes, waiting until we're calm enough to function properly. He rolls on to his side and looks at me, and I turn my head to meet his smirk with a half-hearted glare.

"What?" I protest, starting to feel defensive at the look he's giving me.

"It's called a grape, Levi. Did it really taste that bad?" I narrow my eyes at him.

"You never told me _it would explode_!" With a giant grin and an exaggerated sigh, he lurches forward and grabs another grape from the bag. He holds it out for me to take this time, and I can't decide if I'm relieved or disappointed at the change.

"All right, now don't spit this one out. It's supposed to pop a little when you break the skin." He drops the grape into my outstretched hand and watches me expectantly.

"Tch, you're making it sound worse than I already think it is." I put the grape into my mouth and bite down, prepared for the pop this time, and it's... pleasant. Not the most delicious thing I've ever put in my mouth, but still nice, sweet and sour at the same time. Different from anything else I've eaten before. Rogue chuckles at me, and I raise an eyebrow, trying to look as unamused as possible.

"Ah I'm sorry. You just looked so focused, I thought your head was going to start smoking." I roll my eyes, get to my feet, and walk around him, smacking the back of his turban for good measure. I grab my cloak off the chair it's draped over, and turn to Rogue, who's now standing by the door with his rucksack in tow.

"Shall we?" I ask when he doesn't move.

"We shall," he replies smoothly as he walks through the doorway and ever so gracefully slams his shoulder into the doorframe. My bark of laughter is out before I can stop it, and he's rubbing his shoulder, wincing a little. He narrows his eye at my snickering, but I can tell he's still grinning, even though there's fabric covering his mouth again. It's his turn to laugh when I almost trip on the last step out of the tower, and when I attempt to join him with a loud, sarcastic, and _very_ fake laugh, my abdomen can't handle the stain and it ends up coming out as a groan. Rogue shoots me a look of concern over his shoulder, but I wave it off.

It makes sense that my stomach hurts.

I've never laughed this much in my entire life.

 

\--------------------------------------

 

_Very few things in my life bring me joy nowadays. Seeing Levi sleeping peacefully was one of those things. The first night I had him here, back when Armin was still wandering around the room with his medical supplies muttering about what to feed him, he'd looked so agitated. So ready to run at the first sign of danger, even in his sleep. I can't help but feel prideful at how much better he looks, not that I'd ever tell him that. He'd skin me alive. It's too soon when he stirs, and I don't bother to look away as he stretches like a cat and turns around, blinking blearily in the early light. He snaps at me when I call him sunshine, but I seem to be forgiven when he remembers the bucket of hot soapy water waiting for him in the corner. I leave him for the sake of privacy, but not before teasing him a little more and getting a shirt thrown at my face in retaliation._

_Armin and Mikasa live fairly close to the bell tower, so I rush over there before I overheat in all these horrible dark robes. I sit in one of the chairs at the small wooden table, casually chatting with Armin while Mikasa reads a book with her feet in my lap. Armin asks how Levi is, and when I tell him our plans for the day, I'm scolded and told I shouldn't steal. I wait for Armin to realize it's not stealing if I own it anyways, but he stubbornly refuses to hear me out, and swears that he won't help me if I get in trouble. We banter back and forth a little while longer until Mikasa says she'll stitch our mouths shut if we keep talking, and I take that as my cue to leave. I'm pretty sure Armin calls me a traitor on my way out, but I'm already gone, outside the radius of Mikasa's wrath._

_I can feel it as soon as I open the tower door. Something is very wrong. Every step feels electric in the worst of ways, and I can feel my heart beating faster with apprehension. I never lock the doors unless we're both leaving, because I refuse to make Levi a prisoner. He can come and go as he pleases._ But _, my mind whispers,_ what if someone took the liberty to come right through the unlocked door? _I'm trying to stay calm, but if he's hurt, I'll never forgive myself. I throw myself up the stairs two at a time, and at first glance, there's no one else in the room. When I'm through the doorway, my blood freezes in my veins. He's crumpled against the wall with his head pushed into his knees, and the bucket of water is spilled all over the floor. I'm praying there's no one else in the room, because I'm running over to him as fast as my legs can carry me. I try calling his name, but he doesn't hear. I put my hands on his shoulders and shake him softly, still calling his name, but he's still silent. I notice he's trembling, and I realize this must be another one of his attacks. I know it won't do any good if I panic, but I can't help it. If I can just get him to look at my face, maybe he'll calm down. It's worked before, it could work again._

_I only make it worse, and the way he reacts is entirely my fault._

_I don't think I've ever been hit that hard in my entire life. Not by my stepmother, not by servants, not even by Erwin. I think my head almost fell off. I also think I might've passed out for a second, but it could also have something to do with the fact that I can't open my eye. I'm on my back, I know that much, but Levi's still curled up, stressed and alone. Fine job I'm doing, taking care of him. I can hate myself later, after he calms down. I reach around blindly until I find his shoulders and move behind him, trying to curl around him and offer some kind of comfort. I have no idea what I'm doing, but as I run my hands soothingly up and down his back and over the pale skin of his nape, I can feel his body start to relax. I take my hands away when he sighs, but when he turns around, I wish I wouldn't have let him. I can tell by his silence that he's mortified, but my priority is making sure he's okay. Eventually, my blind scrambling and his reaction to my bruised face leads to him yelling at me and me trying not to yell at him. I already know why he's upset. He's not mad at me, not really. He's mad at himself because he hates being alone. I don't think any less of him, but his massive amounts of pride won't allow him to feel any weakness. I'm still worried when he won't tell me if he's alright or not, even though I can already assume he's the latter._

_There are a number of things that happen next that stamp themselves on my retinas, like the residual burn that comes from looking at something too bright._

_I call him my friend._

_He tells me he hates me._

_I know that he doesn't._

_He scoffs at me when I eat my mango too messily for his standards, but he can't completely hide the grin that tugs on the corners of his mouth as he turns away._

_He gawks at the massive amount of food in my rucksack, and I introduce him to grapes in a way that makes me confused and dizzy and Levi blush scarlet to the roots of his dark hair._

_He spits the grape out, and it bounces off my forehead so comically that we both end up on the floor, him, because he was laughing too hard to stay upright, and me, because I tripped on my own stupid cloak and landed flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me. Somehow I manage to keep laughing, even if my stomach is in absolute agony._

_We both act like clumsy idiots trying to exit the clocktower, and I realize that I've never laughed this much in my entire life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes? No? Y'no? 
> 
> Please?
> 
> Okay but the comments and the kudos and the bookmarks
> 
> Hot damn. I love you all so much and your feedback gives me life. 
> 
> Cave in to my pathetic whining and tumblr me about literally anything. Even if it's a picture of a dog or a hey what's up take any good shits lately
> 
> Literally anything. I live for it. 
> 
> Okay I'll stop I'm sorry thanks for reading
> 
> Love, Your Shitty Author.


	5. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi takes Eren to the community of starving people. Eren realizes he's been mislead, and that the state of his kingdom is much worse than he ever could've imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY
> 
> This was supposed to be out three days ago but I got sick and died and came back and fuck I'm sorry. I feel bad, but here it is. Thank you all for reading! You guys are what keeps me going, so once again, lets fuckin do this.

Walking through these familiar streets with Rogue is an entirely new experience. He practically _drips_ with confidence, and people move out of his path without even realizing they're doing it. I stare at the proud set of his shoulders, momentarily feeling a bit lost until he stops suddenly, and I almost bash my forehead into his shoulder. He turns around and gives me a sheepish smile, but my only response is a questioning, raised eyebrow.

"I— Uh... I have no idea where we're going." I shrug and step in front of him, prepared to imitate Rogue's confident gait. It's not so hard, all I have to do is stand up straighter and look as purposeful as I can manage. Personally, I think I'm pulling it off quite well. This is a new feeling, watching people scurry out of my way rather than the opposite. There are still a few lingering in the middle of the street, but when I fix them with what I hope is an intimidating look, they skitter out of my way. I can hear Rogue's boots softly thumping in the dirt behind me, but I don't realize how close he is until the corner of his cloak brushes against my calf and I turn to see him directly behind my shoulder, observing me quietly. I don't recognize the expression on his face, but he looks away after a few seconds when he notices I'm staring back. He almost looked confused, like he was lost in unfamiliar territory. Honestly, this probably is unfamiliar territory for him. Even if he escapes the palace every so often, there's no way he's been to where we're going. There's a small well at the south edge of the kingdom, and most of the people who don't have anywhere else to go gather here so they won't be alone. The well is usually empty unless it rains, but that happens so rarely in this dusty, parched land that even the very _idea_ of a well is obsolete.

As much as I loathe being alone, I loathe being surrounded by people dirtier than me even more. For that reason, I never did spend much time here unless a kingsguard or some other breed of scum was threatening the people. I push through the old iron gate, leading Rogue into a small courtyard with a familiar, dilapidated well in the center and people that have become so dusty and dirty they almost blend in with the ground. They're alerted to our presence by the screeching of the rusty gate hinges, and one by one, they raise their heads to fix us with suspicious glares. Rogue hasn't said anything yet, and when I turn around to gauge his reaction, I don't know how to respond to what I see.

He looks shocked to his very core, golden eye wide and prominent in his bruised face. I can tell his mouth is open under the dark fabric, and I watch as all the air in his lungs leaves his mouth in a sharp huff. He walks past me slowly, like he's in a trance, and sinks to his knees in front of the well with his head in his hands. I've never seen him like this, and he's worrying me. I move to stand next to him, but when I hesitantly put my hand on his shoulder, he jerks away like he's been stung. I settle for sitting down cross-legged in front of him. I don't know why he's reacting this way. I know he lives in the palace and only sees these things in limited quantities, but he found me half-dead and still managed to take care of me looking nothing more than concerned. I don't know how to help him, and I feel useless. Ever since I met him, he's done nothing but take care of me and chase away all the sharp fears that keep hunting me down. I've only given him a black eye and spat a grape at his face. I have no idea how to comfort him, and that makes me feel worse than anything. He's done so much for me, but I can't do anything for him. After what feels like an eternity of wanting to rip my skin off due to the rising anxiety in my gut, he finally raises his head to look at me, and I wish he hadn't.

He looks shattered. I can't tell if his eye is bright with fury or despair, and his hands are shaking violently. I have no idea what he could possibly be thinking, but the haunted expression on his face keeps me from wanting to know. He's looking through me, like he's somewhere far away, and I don't know how I'm supposed to bring him back. He's talking to himself I think, but what I hear doesn't make any sense.

"I should have _known_. If I would have— I could have done something, _anything_ , I can't— I don't— I don't understand how this happened. None of the reports say anything— How could I have been so _stupid_? I should have known they would do this. I can't believe own my ignorance. _I should have known_."

His words are confusing, and I don't think they were meant for me. When he finally focuses on my face again, he doesn't look any less broken than he did when we first stepped through the gate.

"Better or worse, Levi?"

He sounds angry now, but I don't understand the question, and when I don't answer fast enough, he lunges forward and grabs my shoulders roughly. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm irritated and bristling at his sudden hostility, but I can't find it in myself to be upset with him when he looks so desperate under his simmering anger.

"When you were on the streets, was your life better or worse than this?"

Ah. I understand now. I tentatively reach up to my shoulder and put one of my hands on top of his. "It was worse," he closes his eye like he's in pain, "but it was my own fault." He opens his eyes again and looks like he wants to argue with me, but I continue before he has the chance. "These people take care of each other. I was too stubborn to think I needed help, too prideful to accept it regardless." His hands slip from my shoulders, taking mine with them, and he stares at me for a few seconds before rolling back on his heels with a sigh. This whole situation feels... unresolved. I want to say something to fix whatever has his mind all tangled up, but he's already getting to his feet and turning away from me.

He's standing on the well now, and everyone is staring at him. He pulls down the part of his face wrap that covers his mouth and speaks in a clear, powerful voice. "I don't know any of you, and you certainly don't know me, but I have questions. I have questions, and none of you are obligated to answer any of them if you don't wish to do so. I also have food. The Royal Family has been irresponsible and uncaring. The state of this kingdom is unacceptable. I am going to fix it."

My eyes widen at Rogue's proclamation. There is no way to fix this kingdom, not now, when it's this far gone. Also, if anyone reports back to the Palace that he spoke out against the Royal Family, he could end up in a lot of trouble with some very powerful people. "If you would accept what I have brought with me today, it would honor me greatly to ease the neglect they have shown to each and every one of you."

I didn't know he could be so eloquent. He's giving these people the same kind of hope he gave me, and even though they still look hesitant, like they're not quite sure they can trust him, they look hopeful too. And Rogue, I'm not sure if he's still angry, or how he's feeling at all really, but he looks like he was born to do this, to inspire people to _want_ to live, to listen to his voice and believe what he has to say. I don't know why, but watching him like this makes my chest feel too tight and my heart beat faster. It doesn't make any sense, but even when I look away from him, the uncomfortable feelings don't leave. As I push through the nausea and move to stand next to him, a girl with tangled brown hair slowly comes forward. I recognize her from the alley a few days ago; I gave her half my loaf of bread, and I'm sincerely hoping that isn't the last food she ate. Rogue climbs down from the well and grabs the giant rucksack from the ground. I glance at him as he walks past, but he won't meet my eyes, and I'm stuck wondering if he's upset with me or if he's still wrapped up in his own head.

He kneels at the feet of the little girl and opens the bag for her to peer into. Her eyes grow impossibly wide, and she looks up at Rogue's patient face. He nods encouragingly and gives her a small smile, and something in my stomach shatters painfully at the sight. I can't breathe, and my ears aren't working right, I can only stare and watch him as she accepts the bread he hands her. When she flings herself at him and wraps her skinny arms around his neck, he freezes. I can see his covered face clearly from here; his mouth appears to have dropped open slightly, and his eye holds an impossible amount of anguish. I watch, paralyzed, as two tears slide down his cheekbone to land in the girls ratty hair, suspended like crystals in the tangled strands. For the second time today, all the air in his body leaves in a rattling exhale, and he squeezes his eye shut as he presses his big hand gently into the girls back, embracing her skinny frame. His jaw clenches, and my ears start working again just in time to hear him inhale sharply through his teeth. There's a part of me that clenches harshly at the noise. I want to help, to try and fix whatever's broken inside him. _But_ , my mind whispers, _what if he's already upset with you? What if you make it worse? He won't even look at you right now. What makes you think you can help him?_

The little girl is back on the ground, giggling shyly at something Rogue is saying, and she's been joined by a boy who looks a few years older than her. He hands the boy a mango, who in turn nudges the girl's shoulder. They wave goodbye before running off hand in hand with their prizes clutched tightly to their chests. I feel sick to my stomach for a multitude of reasons that I don't fully understand, but I know that now is an _extraordinarily_ bad time to lose control of myself. I stare at Rogue's face as he hands food to the growing crowd of people flocking to him. Looking at him calms my nerves, smooths down the jagged edges of my mangled psyche, but it does nothing to ease the churning of my stomach; it might actually make it worse. Before I look away, I notice something off about the smiles he's giving everyone when he hands them their food. Maybe it's because I usually only see his one eye and end up working harder to guess what his face is doing under all that dark red cloth, or maybe it's because I can finally see his mouth, but none of his smiles actually reach that eye. They all stop at the edges of his lips curving up to reveal straight white teeth. His golden eye is flat, like a hard chip of ice, frozen and emotionless. His happiness doesn't look forced, just... empty. Dead.

I hate it. I hate that he's miserable, and I hate that he's making _me_ miserable. I swear to god if I embarrass myself in front of all these people because Rogue's making me anxious enough to scream, I will throw him down the well and leave him there until he's just as malnourished as I am. I'm interrupted from my thoughts by a tug on my pant leg, and I look down to see a little boy with who appears to be his sister hovering behind him uncertainly. I sink down to my knees in front of him, and he points at the food bag with a determined expression on his dirty face. I get to my feet again and motion for them to follow me. The boy latches a grubby hand to my pants, and I make a conscious effort to stay calm and think about anything other than where his hands have been. I glance at Rogue as I grab two loaves of bread and some grapes from the sack, but he's either ignoring me, or doesn't notice. Why is he acting this way? What did I do? I suppress the irritating concerns and turn around, handing the loaves of bread to the boy and the grapes to the girl with a small smile. They scamper off together with a backwards wave in my direction. I am approached by many more children before we leave, and with every single pair of grubby hands that carry away food, there's one thought that burns through my entire body and leaves painfully hot relief in its wake, even through the rising panic concerning Rogue's recent change in demeanor.

_They won't grow up like me._

\-------

The walk back to the tower is silent enough to hear the soft sounds of my bare feet thumping against the packed sand. I've always loved silence. It cloaks me like a blanket, wrapping snugly around my mental sanctuary and padding it from the cacophony of everything outside my mind. It used to make me feel safe at night, when the only thing over my head was the cold light of the moon and the sharp glittering of stars. Silence was my shield during all those years sleeping in the dirt; it kept me calm with its soft, cottony insulation.

This silence is crippling. I feel like I'm drowning in it, being pulled down by my ankles and held underneath it's suffocating pressure. Rogue has never been one for silence, at least not around me. He makes up for what I lack when it comes to holding a conversation. I hate whatever it is inside his head keeping him imprisoned. I can't shake the idea that this is somehow my fault, though I have no idea what I could've done to get him like this, but there isn't any other clear explanation. I try to be discreet as I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, but I know he notices, and I know he's intentionally not looking at me.

He said we were friends this morning. Do friends act like this? I don't have a lot of experience with people, so I can't say for sure, but I'm almost positive this isn't how friends treat each other, and there is nothing I hate more than a liar. If he doesn't mean what he said about caring about me, than he'd better get out of my life right now. The only reason I'm so upset is because I'm worried, which means I care about him too, even if I never had any intention of doing so. I would never admit it to him, but he keeps me calm, even if I've only know him for a short period of time.

He is most definitely _not_ keeping me calm right now. I feel sick actually, and when he opens the door to the tower for me, still avoiding my eyes, I have to focus on walking steadily up the stairs. I can hear his footfalls behind me, surprisingly quiet for the size of his boots. He reaches around me and unlocks the door with a key he pulled from around his neck, and the second I'm through the doorway, I turn around and face him. This is the only opportunity I'll get to say anything before he walks out of the tower and disappears into the waning light of the setting sun.

He's looking straight at me, and the words are gone from my mouth like they were never there to begin with. He only maintains eye contact for a few more seconds before looking to the side and taking a deep breath. I don't realize I've been holding my own breath until he finally speaks.

"I'm sorry. This isn't your fault."

I'm left standing in the room alone, misunderstood and misunderstanding, the harsh slam of the door ringing in my ears. My brain scrambles to rationalize his behavior. He said it wasn't my fault. I didn't do anything.

Useless.  _Useless_.

I didn't _do anything_.

 

 

\----------------------------------

 

**_Slam._ **

_Every inhale feels like knives trying carve their way out of my throat and lungs, but the pain is a welcome distraction from what I saw today._

**_Slam._ **

_So many people. So many starving people I didn't know about. None of the reports said anything about this, of such widespread poverty. We were there for hours, and more just kept trickling in. I thought it would never end. Children that looked like skeletons, parents that looked even worse._

**_Slam._ **

_Everyone was so thankful, so grateful for what we were giving them, they had no idea. No idea who I was, no idea who my parents are. I'm a despicable person._

**_Slam._ **

_I should've known. I should've been aware of what was happening in **my own kingdom.** My family is swimming in wealth. **I'm** swimming in wealth. I could've helped them. How many people have died because of me? _

**_Slam._ **

_This is my fault. They shouldn't thank me, they should hate me. I hate myself. I know Levi said one-third of the people in this kingdom were starving, but it didn't seem real until today, until I saw it with my own eye. When that girl threw herself at me, I knew I had to help them. These people are the responsibility of the Royal Family, and there's no way my parents are going to do anything about them._

**_Slam._ **

_I couldn't look at Levi. I hate myself even more when I think about how he used to live, and he said it was worse than what I saw. How could it be worse? His pride is going to be the death of him. I didn't even know he existed before that day in the alleyway, and now I can't imagine my life without him. I wish I was with him now. I can't stop imagining his face in place of the faces of everyone we helped today. It makes me feel sick. I treated him horribly, but I knew that if he looked at me, he would have seen what I've tried so desperately to keep hidden. He would see the self-loathing and question it, and I wouldn't be able to lie to him, I promised I never would._

**_Slam._ **

**_Slam._ **

** Slam.  **

_My fist connects with the massive sack of sand one last time before my feet fly out from underneath me, sliding on the slippery mixture of blood and sweat running down my body and coating the floor. I'm flat on my back, staring at the ceiling of the training room, and all I can see is the bony frames of all those people._ My _people. There's only so much I can do for them as Rogue. I haven't a doubt in my mind that the second I turn twenty-one, I'm taking the throne from Grisha, even if I have to challenge him for it._

_I grimace as the feeling starts stinging its way back into my body. It was a bad decision to come here, but I couldn't think of any other solution. Aggression clears my mind, even though it has its consequences. I've ruined these pants; they're spattered with blood and torn at the knees. I'm a fool for pushing my limits like this. My mangled hands are bleeding freely onto the smooth wooden floor, the tops of my feet are bruised and scraped, and my knees and elbows have raw burns from their contact with the burlap. I glance up at the sack itself, and it's stained almost black from where I struck it with my bloody hands over and over again. This wonderful bruising decorating the skin around my right eye doesn't make matters any better. I wasn't in the palace for lunch, and I've been intentionally avoiding my parents since I came back from the tower. I'm hoping they decide to leave me alone and I can just sneak into the kitchen later, when I'm grabbing food for tomorrow._

_Tomorrow. Tomorrow I have to apologize to Levi. I need to get myself under control, for his sake if not for mine. I can't treat him like that again. He probably still thinks he did something to upset me, but I'll make it up to him. I don't know how yet, but I'll manage. I'm glad I left some grapes and bread for him earlier today. I'd go to the tower in the dead of night with or without a disguise if I forgot to leave him food. I promised both him and myself he'd never be hungry again, and I meant it._

_I don't think I can get up yet. It really was stupid to abuse my body like that. Erwin will be upset with me when he finds out, and he will find out sooner or later. I've given up trying to hide things from him. He's impossibly intelligent, maybe even more so than Armin. I wonder if he knows about the false reports. He's the one who taught me how to read them in the first place. He does more for the kingdom than Grisha realizes, and he's the only reason I feel even slightly prepared to take the throne when I am of age. There's no way he's aware of the state of the kingdom. Erwin is clever and ruthless, but he does not lie, not to me. Speak of the giant, I feel a booted foot nudge my head, and there's no one else in this palace who can sneak up on me with boots on. Not that I'd be able to do much to an attacker right now..._

_"You're a bloody fool, Eren." Was that's joke? "I mean that quite literally." Ah, it was a joke. What a charming man. "Do you want to talk about this?" I shake my head, and he sighs heavily. "I'll go get Petra to bandage your... well your body, I suppose. And you owe me a new sandbag."_

_I only know he's exited the room because of the sound the heavy door makes when it slams shut. I have to make him a new sandbag. When he says I owe him something like that, I have to do it entirely by myself, without the help of any servants. I'm going to have to go buy a bunch of burlap and sew it into a bag with heavy, ropey thread to keep the sand inside, which I'll have to fill it with by hand until it can't fit anymore. I made this last one too. I ruin a lot of his sandbags. The first time was when I was younger, about sixteen probably. My stepmother had managed to get me in trouble with Grisha by complaining about how rude I was to her. When I told him that it's very hard to be rude to someone who pretends you don't exist, he lashed out and struck me. Looking back on that day, I don't think he meant to do it. I think he was frustrated at how that disgusting woman continues to punish the both of us for his mistakes. It's not his fault he was forced into a loveless marriage, and it's not his fault she can't bear children, but she continues to treat is as if we exist only to remind her of her own faults. He apologized for hitting me that night, but by then, I'd already beaten my hands bloody against the rough texture of the burlap. Even so, I couldn't find it in myself to be upset with him after that. It was the most attention he'd given me in months, even if he didn't look at me the entire time we were in the same room._

_Petra couldn't sneak up on anyone. She walks surprisingly heavily for such a small woman. I adore Petra. She's been with me for as long as I can remember. She always saves a plate for me if I'm not at dinner, and she always leaves a jug full of water and orange slices on my bedside table every night. She insists on drawing all my baths, even when I tell her I'm fully capable of doing it myself. She used to sing me to sleep when I was small, with fantastic lullabies about dragons that sing like birds or clouds that chase the sun below the horizon. She's always been the one to patch me up too. She sits down by my shoulder and smacks the top of my head. I look to the side to see her frowning at me. She has a bucket of what I'm assuming to be soapy water, three rolls of white bandaging cloth, and a jar of some thick mucus-colored jelly. I stare at her, and she frowns right back at me. Even when I offer her a small, apologetic smile, she does nothing but glare at me until I look away. She sighs sharply and grabs the hand closest to her. I wince as her thumb grazes over the fresh wounds. I don't think she's going to be particularly gentle, but I know I deserve it. She has every right to be upset with me, causing her all this trouble when I know how she worries. I sneak a look at her again, and try not to screech when she starts rubbing the hot, soapy washcloth into my bloody knuckles. It stings, and the bleeding's started again thanks to her vicious treatment. She's mumbling something about how stupid I am, and I can't disagree with her. I stare at her shiny orange curtain of hair, trying to distract myself from the feeling of her fingers digging the slimy disinfecting jelly into my mangled flesh. The burning finally stops when she tightly wraps fresh white bandages around my knuckles. She's nicer with my knees and feet, even if she grumbles a little about how I ruined a perfectly good pair of pants, but when she gets to my right hand, she stops. I raise a questioning eyebrow at her, and she purses her lips._

_"I can see how all this happened," she gestures at me, and then the bag, "but how did you manage to get a black eye on top of it all? I know you didn't punch yourself."_

_"How do you know I didn't punch myself?" Her only answer is a raised eyebrow. She knows me too well to put up with my childish snarking. I sigh and look at the ceiling. "It's a long story."_

_"We've got time. I've managed to convince your parents that you're feeling a little under the weather, so we have as long as it takes and then some." I hadn't told Petra about Levi yet, but if anyone would understand what I'm doing, it would be her. She shifts herself so my head is resting in her lap, and continues bandaging my right hand. I tell her everything, from how I found him, to how I acted today. I tell her about his anxiety, about how I was an idiot and ended up with my face all bruised up, and I tell her about what we're doing in the kingdom, about the massive amounts of impoverished people that weren't mentioned in the statistical reports. She listens quietly the whole time, moving her fingers to loosen the tangles in my matted hair when she's done with my hands. I finish speaking and wait for her response, but she stays silent until my hair is free of tangles and laying against my collarbones in a soft, brown sheet. She leaves her hand in my hair and looks down at me fondly._

_"You know your mother and I were good friends. She would be very proud of what you're doing." I love it when she says things like that. I didn't know my mother, and my father never talks about her. It's nice to hear the things Petra remembers, it makes me feel like I actually knew her._

_"You won't tell anyone?" I can't think of who she would tell. She's always kept my secrets._

_"Have you already told Erwin?"_

_I nod quickly, jostling her fingers in my hair. "Yes."_

_She smiles. "Then no. Of course I won't." She raps my forehead with her knuckles and slides out from under me, offering her hand to help me up. "They would do well to have blankets and cloaks too, don't you think?" I blink at her, not quite believing what she's suggesting._

_"Do we have enough? There's so many of them Petra..." She tuts at me, linking her arm through mine, and I fight off a wince when the raw mess of my elbow brushes against her ribs._

_"Even if we don't have enough, don't you have that seamstress friend? Mikasa? She could make more. Even if they had to share for awhile, it's better than nothing, right?" I don't know why I didn't think of that. Mikasa would love to help, and I know Levi only had his cloak before I brought him to the bell tower._

_"You're brilliant Petra. That's a fantastic idea."_

_"I know," she grins and ushers me through the doors leading to my bedroom. "Now undress yourself, and I'll draw you a bath. You reek of sweat." I grumble to myself and walk over behind the screen to step out of the ruined pants. I can't get rid of this pit in my stomach. Petra distracted me, but now it's back with a vengeance, and I'm worrying about Levi again. I don't know what I'll do if I walk into the tower tomorrow and he isn't there. The door clicks shut as Petra leaves me alone to bathe in silence, and as I step into the steaming water, a few familiar shapes sitting on the sink in the corner catches my eye, and I know what I can do to make it up to him. I won't push him away with my own grievances. I'll have to tell him everything at some point, but for now, I just hope he'll accept my gifts and forgive me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was shit to write, but next chapter is wonderful. Things start going places if you know what I mean *eyebrow waggle*
> 
> Thank you again for all the feedback! I love reading the comments and I squeal every time I get an email about this fic from a03. 
> 
> As always if anyone wants to talk, I never sleep, and y'all can find me on tumblr at bitchflavoredicecube. 
> 
> See you all next time.


	6. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi gets his apology as well as many other unexpected surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOES 12:30 STILL COUNT AS TUESDAY IMMA SAY YES 
> 
> Thanks for yo patience. I love this chapter, and I hope y'all do too. Enjoyyyyyyy

When the first few rays of sunlight filter in through the tall windows and illuminate _every single particle_ of dust in this massive, lofty room, I'm furious enough to claw the skin off my face. I didn't sleep at all. I couldn't even manage to close my eyes. I'm still losing my mind over what happened yesterday. Nothing makes sense, and I feel like an idiot for not being able to help Rogue. The regret and self-hatred that clouded my brain over the whole situation morphed to anger about thirty minutes after he left the tower, and I found myself running about the room armed with the cold water and the cloth, screeching my frustration like an angry crow as I viscously scrubbed everything I could reach. I even dragged the chair over to each and every one of those stupidly high wall sconces and polished them with the damp rag until I could see my own furious reflection. I cleaned until there was nothing more to clean, and then I stripped out of all my clothing, poured the remaining water over my head, and screamed at the ceiling for a good five minutes at the shock of the cold, and just how _angry_ I was at everything.

I don't know why I was so angry, but when I was done screaming, I felt hollow, an empty shell with a very sore throat. I'd wrapped myself in every blanket in the room until only my eyes and a few strands of inky, damp hair were peeking out. I crouched on the floor and stared at the wall, and I haven't moved since. Now the sun is up, I haven't slept at all, my hands hurt, and I _do not understand_ how there can be any dust left in this god-forsaken hell hole of a clock tower! Every single particle serves to mock me as they float around in the dazzling sunlight without a care in the world. I can feel the achy soreness in my eyes as I follow a particularly large particle's circuit around the room. I'm so _tired_ , but I'm not quite tired enough to fall asleep, which frustrates me to no end, and all this dust is making me grow more and more furious by the second. I've been crouched here, wrapped in blankets, and glaring at the same wooden baseboard for hours, and now even the filthy air is laughing at my pitiful, sleepless existence.

I don't exactly know what happens next. I never heard the door open, but when I blink a few times, the sunlight is streaming through the windows at a different angle than it was a few seconds ago, and there are warm, long-fingered hands rearranging my blankets and cupping my face, and it feels _wonderful_ , and I'm sure no one would mind if I closed my eyes for a little while because these hands are so _warm_ , and—

Wait. I jerk into alertness, only to be met with a very familiar, worried golden stare. I narrow my eyes at Rogue, prepared to literally and metaphorically bite his idiotic head off for all the grief he's caused me, but his _thumbs_. His thumbs are stroking my cheekbones and I really am so _tired_ , I can feel my eyes slipping shut against my will, and I decide to be mad at him later. I don't need to be mad at him now, not when I can finally snatch some valuable rest after fruitlessly chasing it all night long. Vaguely, I can feel myself being shifted around in the blankets, and I remember all my clothes are discarded in a heap on the floor somewhere, but I can't find it in myself to care.

 

 

\-------

 

 

I open my eyes to darkness, or at least to shadow. The shadow of a certain someone who, if I remember correctly, I am supposed to be upset with. My current position makes my stomach twist into knots, painful enough to make me dizzyingly nauseous. There's an unusually plump cushion under my head, resting in the hollow of Rogue's crossed legs. He's asleep, snoring lightly, with his head propped on his fist and his elbow resting on his knee. He looks so tired; I almost want to let him sleep. Almost. I twist my arm out of the cocoon of blankets I've tangled myself in and smack his arm, dislodging his carefully balanced support structure.

I realize that I did not think this through.

His eye snaps open in surprise as his fist is jerked out from under his chin, and his head drops like a rock. I don't have time to twist out of the way, and his forehead smacks solidly against mine. I thought all that fabric might soften the blow a little, but I thought wrong. My entire skull is stinging, and I can hear him mumbling colorful profanities as he holds his head in his hands. When the world stops spinning, I jab him in the ribs. He jumps and glares at me balefully, but I feel unaffected. For some strange reason, I feel almost _giddy_ , I feel reckless and invincible. Maybe it's because he came back and some part of me thought he wouldn't, or maybe it's because even though he's glaring at me right now, he seems to be back to normal; his eye isn't empty anymore. I pull the blankets back up above my nose to hide my grin and try to school my face into a frown before jabbing him in the ribs once again and declaring in the sternest of voices, "I'm angry with you."

I'm not sure if it's my face or my voice that gives me away, but his eye crinkles with a smile before he hastily suppresses it. "Oh, are you now?"

"Yes. Very angry." I don't understand myself. I was screaming at the ceiling only a few hours ago, and now I'm barely restraining myself from giggling. I've never giggled. Not once in my life.

"Oh yes, you look angry," he says very seriously. "Downright furious, in fact. I suppose you have every right."

"Oh, have I?"

"Mm, you have. I treated you awfully yesterday. Barely got an inkling of sleep last night I felt so bad. I really am sorry."

Our banter has lost its playful tone, but I'm glad to hear his words. This would all be so wonderful if I knew _why_ he acted so strangely. "I just don't understand what had you like that. I didn't know how to help you."

"Someday I'll tell you everything, I promise." One of his hands is carding through my hair, and my eyes close again without my permission. It feels nice, but I'm not sure he knows he's doing it. "For now, you'll have to accept my sincerest apologies." I crack an eye open to see if he's joking, but his face is serious and waiting for an answer.

"What happens if I don't accept your sincerest apologies?" He blinks at me, surprised, and I smirk, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, he says loftily, as his eye crinkles with the grin spreading across his face, "I suppose you'll have to accept my _insincerest_ apologies and the many gifts I intend to shower you with."

"I'm not seeing anything but your giant, fabric-covered head at the moment. Where are these alleged gifts?" He's grinning devilishly, and I am immediately suspicious. He's being too still, too quiet, and much too— "YIKE!"

The side of my face is pressed into the floor, and at least four blankets are haphazardly twisted around various parts of my severely underdressed body. I look up, and he's standing, arms crossed, looking quite pleased with himself. I come to the conclusion that the brat jumped to his feet with my head still in his lap. "I hate you."

"You don't."

"No, I do. I really, _really_ —"

"Put some clothes on."

"Well I _would_ if you—"

"Come on now Levi, the sun is out. If you don't put clothes on right away, you'll sizzle and evaporate before my very eyes. Eye."

"Yes _very_ funny, poke fun at the pale—"

"Are you feeling any scorching yet?"

I huff in exasperation and grab at the blankets, holding them more securely around my waist. My clothes are on the other side of the room, and I shove Rogue with my shoulder as I stalk over to get them, mumbling little "I hate you's" the whole way. I know he's probably laughing at me behind my back, but I'm sure I can find some way to torture him later. He's rustling around behind me, doing who knows what, and I find myself feeling a little... disappointed. I lost a whole night of sleep being so furious, only to end up as a puddle in his lap the second he showed up. He hadn't even apologized yet. He hadn't said anything at all really, he'd just put his hands on my face and I was gone. Thinking about it makes my skin prickle, and I try to shove the memory back to the deepest corner of my mind to escape the uncomfortable sensation. I thought he would be defensive and angry with me, and I was prepared for all of it. I _wasn't_ prepared for him to show up all worried and ready to coax me into what might've been the best I've ever slept. I finish dressing myself and look down at my own hands, still thinking of his. They're small, calloused, dry, and overall unattractive. Even though my fingernails are clean, they're jagged and broken in some spots where I've bit them. I have no other way to keep them short, as disgusting as it is to gnaw them off like an animal. They're already getting too long. I'm going to have to do it again soon.

"What are you doing over there?" Rogue calls as he walks towards me from across the room. I hastily drop my hands and turn around.

"Just getting dressed. Nothing unusual." I put my hands behind my back and raise my chin, daring him to doubt me. Sadly, he's fearless, and I'm backed into a corner.

"You were staring at your hands. Let me see them." He holds out his own hands expectantly, and I notice for the first time today that they're both covered in gauze. He looks like he's wearing white fingerless gloves that are wrapped around from the middle of the back of his hand all the way to his middle knuckles. His fingers are wrapped individually so he can still move them unhindered. There's two dark spots where his pinkie and fourth finger meet the rest of his hand, as if he'd been punching something and torn through the skin. I forget about hiding my own hands and reach up to gently grab his.

"What's this?" He takes the opportunity to twist his hands around and grab my arms, dragging me to where I've left all the blankets and the giant cushion in a heap.

"Sit." I don't really have a lot of options, but I can still keep my fingers latched to his wrists.

"No." He wants to argue, but I don't give him the chance. "What happened to your hands? They weren't like this yesterday." He looks away and snorts childishly. "Don't be a brat. What happened?" He stays silent, with his eyes trained on the wall beside him. When he looks back at me, I hold my ground against his stubborn golden glare with one of my own. This is not a battle I'm going to lose. After about ten seconds of glaring at each other, he sighs and looks away again.

"Sit," he says quietly. I open my mouth to protest, but he interrupts. "Sit down and I'll tell you what happened. I need to get a few things from the bag, but I promise I'll tell you about my hands." When I still don't let go of his wrists, he flicks his eyes to mine again. "Have I ever lied to you?" His voice holds a hint of challenge, and its a challenge I can't fight. He's never lied to me. I drop his wrists and stalk over to my makeshift nest, pulling the blankets tightly over the two flat cushions that were already in the tower and smoothing them out evenly. Under closer examination, the cushion he brought with him today is more like a pillow than anything, perfectly stuffed and finely made. It's dyed deep turquoise, with detailed gold stitching all along the edges in looping patterns. I don't know what possesses me to do it, but I squash the cushion against my chest and shove my nose into it, inhaling deeply. It smells like exotic perfume and soap, like it's just recently been cleaned.

"That's for you." Rogue settles himself down cross-legged in front of me, and I pull my face out of the pillow, confused. "Remember when I mentioned showering you with gifts? That's one of them." I'm lost for words momentarily, not quite knowing how to respond to being given something so luxurious and so clearly expensive. I don't have time to formulate a response before he's plucking the pillow out of my arms and setting it on the floor next to me, right in front of an odd collection of objects I'm assuming came from his bag. There's a jar of some thick, pale-pink cream, a short, flat stick, a smaller jar of clear liquid, and what looks like a small, impossibly thin paintbrush. I quirk an eyebrow at him, and he wordlessly holds out his hand, waiting for one of mine. I regard him suspiciously, and when he sees my hesitation, he sighs. "Give me one of your hands, and I'll tell you what happened to mine." It's a fair trade I suppose, so I gracelessly plunk my sad little hand into his waiting bandaged one.

I watch warily as he pops the lid off the bigger jar and dips his fingers inside, scooping out a small amount of the pink cream. He starts rubbing it into the dry skin around my fingernails, and I only realize how hard I'd been tensing when my entire body relaxes at the wonderful sensation. It's soothing and cool as he slowly works down my fingers, massaging the cream into my parched skin in slow, small circles. I think I must be more exhausted than I was aware of, because my eyes have once again decided to close without my prompting. I let them stay shut, even as Rogue starts to speak.

"Yesterday was... challenging for me. I know you said that one-third of the people in the kingdom were starving, but it didn't seem real until I saw it myself." He pauses for a moment, and by the wet sound I hear, I'm assuming he's scooping more cream out of the jar. "For reasons I can't disclose, I was furious and devastated and incredulous, all at the same time. It hurt more than I can put into words to see all the people I could have been helping suffering like that. I didn't want to take out any of what I was feeling on you, so I tried to stay quiet and distance myself, just for a little while. I know you don't know _everything_ about me, but you know me better than most people do, even if you've only been around me for a short while. I was afraid if I looked at you, you'd be able to see how much I hated myself."

My eyes are open now, and I don't know what to say. I don't understand why he would blame himself for something so out of his control. The only people responsible for the state of the kingdom are the members of the Royal Family, and there's no reason for him to be upset when he's helping more people than they ever have. I regard him carefully as he pulls the fabric covering his mouth down below his chin with his free hand. His features are almost entirely free of fabric like this, the only covered part being the dark red cloth swooping across his face, under his right eye and over his nose before spreading out and draping across his left cheekbone while still stretching up to cover his left eye. There's a smaller diagonal piece of fabric that serves only to double layer the covering over that eye, the one that I've never seen. I don't know if he even has an eye there, or if he's mutilated in some way, but his voice pulls me out of my thoughts and my attention falls to his hands, which are currently rubbing that wonderful cream into the papery skin of my wrists.

"In the Sultan's Palace, there is one wing that's entirely reserved for members of the Kingsguard. This wing includes a training room, where they all go to learn and maintain their skills or generally keep up their fitness. In that room, there is a massive burlap sack filled with sand, and it's used for practicing or honing hand to hand combat skills." I understand now. He wouldn't have had to go mutilate his hands if I'd been able to pull my fingers out of my useless mouth and help him. "It was a bad idea to go there, but it stabilizes me when I get too upset." He wipes the excess cream on his own skin, pushing up his sleeve as he does so to reveal finely muscled forearms that hold my gaze hostage until the red fabric slides back down. I still feel horrible about his hands, but I'm too distracted by the next object he picks up to dwell on the pit in my stomach. The short stick is about six inches long and flat, with what looks like some kind of rough paper covering both sides. "You have to stay still for this, but I promise you'll enjoy it when it's done." I watch him suspiciously as he moves to rest the stick under the ragged ends of my embarrassingly disgusting fingernails. I jump when he starts to quickly move it back and forth, and he stops, frowning at me slightly.

"What is that thing, and what is it going to do to me?" He grins at my serious tone and wary expression before holding it out for me to take. I run my fingers along the surface, and it catches roughly on my skin. He holds out his hand expectantly, and I drop the object into his waiting palm with a snort.

"It's a nail file. I think what it does is pretty self explanatory." He grabs my hand again and starts filing at my left thumbnail. It feels odd, ticklish almost, but not bad. I watch as the little stick magically turns all the jagged edges smooth and even before my eyes. Even covered in bandages, his long fingers move gracefully around mine, filing my nails down to perfect little ovals. The hand that's wrapped around my wrist to keep my own hand still is unbelievably gentle, and my observation of all this brings back that nausea from earlier, a feeling that's becoming disconcertingly familiar. I don't understand why looking at him makes me feel sick. I've been around him this long, why would something like this start affecting me now? It makes no sense. Even with the discomfort of my stomach, I can't look away from his hands as they finish with the file and grab the smaller jar. When he pops the lid off of this one, I wrinkle my nose at the sharp, bitter smell that permeates the air, but keep staring at the deft movements of his fingers as he dips the paintbrush in the jar and swipes the liquid over my cuticles. It stings a little when it comes in contact with one of my many hangnails, but the cool relief it leaves behind is well worth the tiny twinge of discomfort.

He's put all the lids back on the jars now, and he smiles at my baffled expression as he pushes them towards me. "These are also for you." I blink a few times and choke out a thanks through the pain of my throat contracting tightly. I want to reject all these gifts. I was only joking this morning when I'd teased him, but I can't make myself want to give them back. I don't feel pitied, I feel spoiled. Lavished and special. I look down at my hands, up at Rogue's smiling face, then back down at my hands again.

This is unreal.

They look _perfect_. I can't even believe I'm looking at my own hands. Every one of my nails is trimmed and smooth, and even if the skin of my hands is still cracked in some places, it's no longer dry and papery. They're smooth now, still a bit slippery and fragrant from the cream, and they don't hurt anymore.

"Good?" He asks, smile audible in his voice. I can only nod furiously in response and repress the hot wave of gratitude threatening to make me start crying like a child about how nice and clean my hands are. I am thankful, more than he'll probably ever know, but I refuse to embarrass myself. He doesn't have to be any more concerned about my well-being than he already is. I can feel his eye on me, and I'm determined to change the subject before his staring causes the nausea to come back.

"When are we going out?"

"You, my friend, are not going anywhere." I snap my eyes up to his face, and when he sees my expression, he lifts his chin defiantly in a way that tells me he will not be swayed on whatever's locked in his stubborn mind. I didn't know I could get irritated this fast. I think it may be a new record.

I narrow my eyes at him. "And why wouldn't I be going anywhere?" The fact that he thinks he can boss me around makes me bristle internally. Just because we're... whatever we are, doesn't mean he can control what I choose to do with my time. If I want to go out, then I'll damn well go out, and he won't be able to stop me.

"Calm your quills little porcupine." _Oh, that's it_. I launch myself at him with an indignant screech, and his eye widens in shock as I tackle him to the ground. He regains control of himself astonishingly fast, and we grapple around for an embarrassingly short amount of time before I've somehow ended up in his lap with my legs wrapped around his waist and his arms tightly encircling my body, completely immobilizing me. My face is mashed against his shoulder, and I'm disgusted with how this turned out. I'm pretty sure I was trying to pin him, I might've even been sitting on him at some point, but I severely underestimated how strong he was, and he surged up underneath me and clamped his arms around my shoulders like a vice, firmly enough to pin my own useless arms in between our chests. "Are you finished? He asks tightly, "Or do you want to try that again?"

I snarl something unintelligible against his shoulder and try to squirm out of the solid prison he's made, but his grip only tightens around me. I'm not exactly muscular, not with the way I've lived most of my life, but I'm decently strong, and the speed at which he had me immobilized is infuriating. He still hasn't let me move, and it's making me insane. I squirm harder, trying to wrestle my arms out from where they're currently being crushed. "Stop that. Will you listen to me? Levi!" I sag against him with a frustrated groan. He's too strong, and he's not going to let go until I listen to whatever ridiculous thing he has to say. "We're not going anywhere today, for a few different reasons. First of all, the kitchens may be loaded, but they're not loaded enough for me to be able to take that much food every day and still go unnoticed. Second of all— are you listening to me?" I nod sulkily against his stupid shoulder, and he continues. "Second of all, we gave them enough yesterday to last for at least two days. If they eat too much too quickly after having such inconsistent dietary habits, they could get sick. Third of all, you literally _fell asleep in my hands_  earlier." I think he feels my mouth open as I prepare to interrupt, because he frees an arm to swat me on the back of the head, and I'm not fast enough to wriggle out of his grip before it's back, tight as ever.

"I thought you were dead when I walked in this morning." I tense in his arms at his words, and I know he feels it when his thumbs start moving softly against my skin. "Not like that, I'm sorry. You were just— you looked exhausted. Your eyes were all bloodshot, and you were crunched up under all those blankets." I've unconsciously relaxed against him with my nose still buried in his shoulder. "You were out as soon as I touched your face." He's relaxed too, his arms are more of an embrace than a restraint at this point, and it's nice, but all of a sudden, it isn't making me _feel_ too nice. I'm growing unsettlingly dizzy and breathless; I can feel my heart beating hard and fast against my ribcage, and my stomach is twisted and tight like its trying to flutter its way right out of my body. I don't know why any of this is happening, but I know I need space _right now._

His grip is loose enough for me to weakly smack his chest a few times, but when he pulls away to observe me worriedly with his glimmering golden eye, I feel like my entire head catches fire. My cheeks and ears are burning hotter than any sunburn I've ever had. He tilts his head, eyebrow raised in concern, and I can't think when he's _this close_ it's _too close_ , and I scramble backwards, out of his lap and into a panting mess on the floor.

I wave off his questions, and he regards me carefully for a few seconds before murmuring about getting something for us to eat from his bag.

I'm too busy trying to calm my wild heartbeat to care about food at all.

 

      ---------------------------------------

 

_He really did scare me today. When I opened the door, everything was so clean it was almost sterile, but the little man crouched on the floor and cocooned in blankets was an absolute mess. I'm glad I had the pillow with me. It's one of mine, from my own bed. I'd forgotten he didn't have one._

_He's fallen asleep again, not on my lap this time, and he looks very relaxed. I know he's not hungry, we'd split a large loaf of bread, and I'd introduced him to honey. I don't know what happened earlier or why he was panicking, but he forgot about it immediately when he tasted the golden nectar. It's endearing really, watching him try new things, he makes little noises of contentment, and I'm not sure he's entirely aware of it. Watching him like that makes my chest hurt. Being around him in general makes my chest hurt, and I haven't the slightest idea why. It's been like that since this morning, when the feeling of his skin under my hands burned itself into my memory and refused to leave. My fingers itch to touch him, and it confuses me. I'm not touchy with_ anyone _. It's not like I mind casual contact, I just never think to initiate it, but today, I couldn't wait to take care of his poor hands because it granted me an excuse to touch him again. I hope this strange urge dies away eventually. He's been so skittish, and I think somehow I'm partially responsible for that. He was fine when he woke up, or at least when he woke me up. My head still hurts from banging into his, but it was well worth it to see him try his very hardest to hide his grin behind a glare. He didn't succeed, not in the slightest._

_I'm leaning against the wall now, watching him sleep and trying to fight this uncomfortable ache behind my sternum. His short hair is all fanned out around his head like a shining black halo. He never did put on his turban, and I've been mooning over that hair like a dog over a steak ever since I had my hands in it. It's so different from my own thick, coarse and extremely unmanageable mane of brown hair, and much shorter too. My fingers slid so easily through his dark strands in a way they never slide through my own. I don't know how Petra deals with it. She's broken at least four combs trying to get the tangles out, she mostly just uses her fingers now before brushing it with some horrible bristled thing until it's sleek and soft against my shoulder blades._

_Armin cut Levi's hair close to his scalp all the way around the bottom because he said it wasn't worth saving. That part feels soft in a different way, all prickly but still somehow smooth, like velvet. I want to put my fingers back in it, but I don't want to wake him up. He still looks so tired, and even if I laid awake staring at the high ceiling of my bedroom for half the night, I'd bet this damn kingdom he didn't sleep at all._

_I watch as he rolls onto his side with a grunt and draws his hands up by his face. The sight of him all curled up with that silky black hair falling around his nose and closed eyes makes my chest hurt so much I have to look away. I try to distract myself and focus on my own hands, but all I can think of is how his were so small and pale resting in them. He looked so content earlier; he'd made little blissful noises then too, when I was massaging lotion into his chapped skin. I don't know how he lasted so long with hands like that in such a dry place without going insane. He's stronger than me, I know that much. I wouldn't have survived the years of solitude like he did. His spirit isn't broken, maybe a little suppressed, but still whole, and still strong, just like his small, calloused hands._

_I look back at his sleeping form, and watching the strands of hair around his face stir with each soft exhale makes my throat tighten unexpectedly. It's painful, and I'm having trouble breathing right as a sharp pang of something foreign and terrifying shoots through my entire torso. I don't understand what's making me feel this way. What's happening to me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH? YEAAAAAH? 
> 
> YEAAAAAAAH!!! HELL YES AND IT ONLY GETS BETTER NEXT TIME SO STAY TUNED ALRIGHT YES IM GOING TO BED I LOVE YOU ALL and thanks for the kudos and comments because they give me life for real. Okay yes. Gnight. 
> 
> *whispers* mad love


	7. Alignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi reflects on how the past week has gone while trying not to be sick, and Eren keeps thinking of new ways to spoil him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS THE LONGEST AND GREATEST AND ALL I CAN SAY IS FINALLY.

I'm waiting for Rogue in the tower with my knees pulled up against my chest and my head in my hands. I don't know what's happening to me. This whole week has been one big confusing mess, but I've loved every second of it. I've never been happier in my entire life, but I've also never been more miserable. I'm so confused. I keep thinking of little things that make my stomach churn, little insignificant things, every one of them involving Rogue. This all started about six days ago, and it's been hanging around my mind like a heavy fog.

It began when I woke up grimacing at the lingering taste of honey in my mouth. Rogue noticed, said he had another gift, and wordlessly handed me a slender, rosy wooden box with swirling patterns carved into the lid. I looked inside and saw a stick, multiple sticks actually. There was a removable slat of wood hiding at least twelve of the short branches underneath it. I plucked the singular stick atop the layer out of the box to examine it, but I only grew more confused. It was a simple thing, it looked like it has been freshly ripped off a tree and wrapped in red thread with the exception of the top end, which was shaved to reveal the pale wooden flesh underneath the bark. I looked up at him, trying to determine if he thought this was funny. "What am I supposed to do with a box of sticks?"

He laughed like he did, in fact, think this was funny and shook his head. "It's a _miswak_. It's for your teeth."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at the branch in my hand. "How am I supposed to use a stick on my teeth?"

He held out his hand and accepted the slender piece of wood from me. "This end here, the pale end, when you chew on it, it splits into bristles, and you can kind of scrub your teeth with them." When my only response was a wrinkled nose and a raised eyebrow, he sighed and pushed the _miswak_ back into my hands. "Just try it. You'll love it, I promise."

He wasn't wrong. He wasn't wrong in the slightest. It was the most wonderful thing I'd ever experienced. I hadn't realized my mouth was dirty until I felt what it was like for it to be so _exceptionally_ clean. There was an entire undiscovered layer of perfection to my teeth revealed to me by the miracle of the _miswak_. I had to take a moment to appreciate just how _beautiful_ it was. I may or may not have cried a little over this new and absolutely _heavenly_ level of oral hygiene I was experiencing. When I faced him again, ready to praise the skies for the invention of this wonderful stick, he had this odd little smile on his face, and the words were yanked right out of my mouth. I had to look away.

That was only the beginning.

He brought me all sorts of different novelties and foods from the palace. He's told me stories about how beautiful the grounds are, how grand the massive rooms of gold and marble look when the sun streams through the picturesque windows, and how nice the people are there. I scoffed at first, wondering how anyone who lives in that lavish marble den of neglect and superiority could possibly have a heart, but he knows the palace staff intimately, and he told me about the many misadventures they've had together. I've never had any desire to step foot in the palace, but the more he tells me, the more curious I am. I hate myself for how much I want to see it in person. Rogue's remained blissfully unaware of my turmoil, and continues to tell me all about the different wonders that lie behind those massive doors. He's had to explain a lot to me, because half the things he talks about, I've never even heard of. I was convinced that he'd made up eggplants just to tease me until he actually brought one to the tower.

" _That's_ an eggplant?"

"This is an eggplant."

"It doesn't look anything like an egg!"

"I'm not sure it's supposed to."

"...It's disgusting."

"Oh, it's horrible."

He introduced me to the multitudes of different things one can put on bread. I learned that I have an embarrassing addiction to anything strawberry flavored, and even though I never told him, I think he figured it out. He brings me something strawberry to eat every morning now.

My only problem is this stomachache that won't leave until he does, and sometimes not even then. It's not the same feeling I get when I'm sick or about to have a panic attack; not so much a heavy, dreadful weight as it is a desperate, almost _violent_ fluttering, making me feel shaky and sick and short of breath.

Even with my mental and physical crises, we've been taking food to the hidden courtyard every few days or so. I was relieved to see Rogue acting normally after being so nervous about going back. He was a little more somber than usual, but he never got lost inside himself again, and after leaving, he was back to his ridiculous antics and teasing in a matter of minutes. We've been going over there in the early morning, when watery shadows of the palace towers sprawl across the waking kingdom and keep the sun off our backs. We'd go later if we could, when more people are around to escape the scorching midday heat, but lately, Rogue's presence has been required at the Palace during the day for fairly sizable chunks of time. He hasn't told me why he's needed there so much, and I haven't asked. I know he'd just say it was one of those things he had to keep from me.

He comes back in the evenings, right before the sun goes down, and he stays until I start nodding off, always leaving too much food behind, " _Just in case something happens._ " I have no idea what that " _something_ " would be, seeing as I never leave this tower without him, but if it makes him happy, I can't be bothered to care...

 _That's_ it.

That's what I mean. These little things that just pop in my head, either a memory of something he's done or some brief and terrible flood of unbidden fondness, making me think horrible mushy things like " _If it makes him happy, I can't be bothered to care._ " I just want to stop thinking about him, but I _can't_. What else is there to think about? My entire life is being rebuilt with Rogue at the foundations. Everything I am now involves him. It's almost like I died with Isabel and Farlan, and he's brought me back to life in every way. I can't even look at my own _hands_ anymore without thinking about him. It's been six days, and I've had to consciously tell myself to conserve the cream he gave me so I don't use it all up.

I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes and groan, trying with renewed vigor to think about something other than hand cream, or anything else connected to Rogue, but it's no use. He's still calmly sitting in the center of the whirlwind in my mind, golden eye crinkling with a mirthful smile. I don't think I'd be so irritated if I didn't feel so sick. I know that if I can clear my mind of him, this feeling will go away; I would prefer being empty to being ill and confused. Usually I don't need to think about that choice because my nausea leaves with him. This current bout hasn't left since yesterday morning, when we were in the courtyard passing out food and an abundance of blankets to the people there.

He told me they were from the palace, but I wouldn't have believed him if he hadn't already promised not to lie to me. There were at least one hundred blankets; we had to make multiple trips to and from the bell tower to get them all here. The fact that the palace has so many blankets that we can take this many and _still_ go unnoticed absolutely baffles me.

This is the day my stomach started trying to shudder is way out of my throat, and it hasn't stopped since. I remember exactly when this feeling began. I'd been worried, because I hadn't seen the little girl who shared my bread all those days ago make an appearance in the courtyard yet, but I hadn't even been able to voice my concerns to Rogue before I felt a familiar tugging on the dark green fabric wrapped around me. When I turned, she was smiling up at me in all her tangled brunette glory, and holding out her hand. I knelt down next to her, and she opened her tiny fist to reveal a flower. It was a delicate little thing with a bright yellow throat and dark purple petals. It was crumpled slightly from being clutched in her fist, but marvelous nonetheless. No one had ever given me anything like this before, and when I held out my hands to accept the small blossom, I had no idea what to do with it. She was staring at me expectantly, and just when I was starting to get nervous, a voice behind me came to the rescue.

"What do you have there, Levi?" I didn't respond, I simply kept my palm open for him to observe as he knelt down next to us.

"Did you give this to him?" Rogue asked the girl kindly. She nodded in response, smiling shyly. "It's beautiful. I bet he loves it, don't you Levi?" It was my turn to nod, more helpless than shy, still not knowing what to do with the delicate little bloom. I didn't have much time to contemplate my options before there were hands gently plucking the flower out of my hand and tapping softly against my chin, turning my head slightly. My mouth went dry at the feeling of his perpetually warm fingers tucking the flower into the fabric of my turban, right above my ear. I looked at him, preparing to ask him what he was doing, but when I met his eye and he met mine, we both froze for absolutely no reason. I knew my face was completely scarlet, and his held some unfathomable expression that I couldn't even come close to deciphering. His fingertips were like coals resting against my jaw, and I tried to focus on the painful part of the burning sensation, to focus on _anything_ that would release me from this paralysis, but it was no use. We crouched there, staring and dumb, lost and unmoving, until the little girl hummed her approval, skipping away and shattering whatever charm was keeping us frozen. I was on my feet quickly, trying to skitter away from him, and just as I'd almost escaped, I heard Rogue quietly murmur something from behind me. I turned my head slightly, avoiding his eyes, and he spoke again, louder this time. "It looks... nice." I mumbled some sorry excuse for a thank you and hastily grabbed more blankets to give out, ears burning until we left.

That was the second time I couldn't make myself look at him for an entire day.

That was when this never-ending wave of discomfort started, and it only got worse as the day went on. Once we were back in the bell tower, Rogue bid me a hasty goodbye and darted off towards the palace without a backwards glance. He was gone for hours, and didn't return until the sun was about to set. I'd been painting the dry skin under my nails with that smelly, clear oil, and I'd almost dropped the brush when he'd banged into the room and blown past me to look out the window.

"Ah," he sighed, "There's still time." I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or himself, but he whirled around with a mad grin peeking out from under the fabric of his face wrap. "I can't believe I haven't showed you this yet. We have to hurry, or we'll miss it!" He ushered me towards the ladder built into the wall that I'd completely forgotten about, and I twisted around to give him a dubious look.

"What is it that you want me to do exactly?" He shook his head frantically.

"No time to explain! Climb the ladder, I'll be right behind you. The door in the ceiling there just pushes up, no worries." It had been a long time since I'd climbed anything, but Rogue was right underneath me, and I was still strong.

"Are you sure this wooden death trap is even remotely stable?" I called down to him as I pushed the little door open above me.

"Nope," he replied cheerfully, swatting at my ankles lightly and causing me to grip the ladder a little tighter. "You'd better stop that right now unless you want my foot up your nose," I threatened, and he gave me an innocent smile in return. I huffed and climbed through the trapdoor, but I hesitated at the sight above me. The ladder kept going, ascending with the wooden walls for at least forty feet until it met the ceiling at another little trapdoor. I swallowed my anxiety and kept climbing, mindful of how far I would fall if I let go. Eventually I reached the second door and quickly scrambled through it so I'd have time to calm my breathing and quell the shaking in my hands before Rogue had the chance to fuss over me. I turned around and almost ran face-first into a giant bronze bell filling the majority of this fairly spacious room. Rogue was shuffling around behind me as he hoisted himself out of the trapdoor, and his footsteps echoed against the walls as he came to stand next to me. "Have these ever been rung?" I asked quietly, feeling as if this great bronze thing commanded some atmosphere of reverence. I hadn't been in many churches, but this ancient bell was giving off the same ambiance.

"Not while we've been alive." he replied just as softly. "These are only rung when a Sultan dies, or when a new Sultan takes his place. That hasn't happened since Sultan Grisha took the throne."

"Will these be rung when the Prince—"

"Yes." I glanced over at his bitter interruption, and he looked darker, troubled almost, but after a few seconds, like clouds parting to reveal the sun, he looked over and smiled, motioning for me to follow him. We walked around the giant bell until we came to a small wooden door, and he pushed it open to reveal a balcony that wrapped around the circumference of the tower. I stepped over the threshold and immediately felt like I was going to pitch forward and plummet down to my own disgusting death, which result in me skittering backwards like a spooked horse and tripping over the doorframe to land painfully hard back inside the bell chamber. Rogue poked his head through the doorway with a worried expression, but I didn't acknowledge him as I got to my feet and latched onto his sleeve before gingerly stepping over the doorframe again and onto the balcony. He raised an eyebrow at my white-knuckled grip on the dark fabric, but I met his questioning glance with a glare, daring him to say anything about it. Wisely, he decided to stay quiet and started walking around the tower with me shuffling awkwardly behind him.

Just when I was about to ask him why he'd bothered to drag me up to this rickety death trap of a balcony, I saw it, and I released my grip on Rogue's sleeve in favor of grabbing the banister. I think I felt my jaw clatter to the floor.

I'd never been able to see so far in my entire life.

Sprawled out before me was the kingdom, with its sandy monotony softened into hues of gold and red by the molten sphere of the setting sun.

I'd seen sunsets. I'd seen the clouds streak in striated patterns across the sky as the sun was lost behind the tall figures of the buildings, and I'd seen the ever-present shadows change through kaleidoscopes of color as they grew longer and thinner in the waning light, but I'd never seen the world catch fire like this. The sun was dripping flames onto the kingdom, smearing them against the reflective white marble of the palace, and leaving the black char of shadows in its wake as it sunk lower and lower in the sky and dipped itself into the horizon. I was frozen, absolutely captivated as the fire was swallowed by the sand and the last remnants of the sun's brilliance filtered through the sky like water through silt.

The light was long gone when I once again realized how high up we were, but the steadying fingers curled around my hip were enough to keep me from reeling backwards again. He wordlessly removed them when I twisted my own fingers back into his sleeve, and remained silent as he led me back inside and dropped through the trapdoor. I followed him back down to the familiar room, watching him as he gathered his things. He stopped in front of me, prepared to speak, but this silence was charged, electric and dangerous to whoever broke it. He took a hesitant step forward, but retreated just as quickly, and with a curt nod of his head, he was gone.

I haven't stopped feeling sick since he left. There's still food in the corner, but I know if I ate any it would only come right back up, and then I'd have to clean it before the smell reached my nose. I hadn't bothered to wrap my hair today, and I'm glad for my laziness when I'm able to tangle my fingers through it and wallow in whatever this is. This week has only gotten better, but my interactions with Rogue have only gotten worse. He's told me time and time again that he's not going anywhere until I ask him to, but when he leaves without a word like he did last night, I can't help being nervous. My stomach was already upset enough, and now it's full of dreadful anticipation and trying to claw its way out of my throat. I'm busy perfecting my frustrated growl when the door flies open and bangs against the wall. I'm pretty sure he's left permanent marks in the wood with his constant enthusiasm.

He whips his head around wildly, and by the time his eye lands on me, I've adjusted myself to look like I _wasn't_ just in the middle of a mental and physical breakdown. If he thinks I'm upset, he'll ask questions I don't think I'm ready to answer. He practically bounces over to me with barely contained excitement, and I suppress a smirk at his ridiculous behavior, nausea momentarily forgotten. "What is it? If you piss on this floor, I'll throw you out the window."

He yanks down the lower half of the fabric covering his face in time for me to see his mouth drop into a pout. "Be nice to me. I brought you something special."

I feel my lips twitch up slightly and push myself to my feet. "Oh? What makes it so special?" Despite my teasing, I really am glad to see him. Everything's better when he's around, and I don't like missing him.

He grins and motions for me to follow him. "I've only ever had one of these, they're very rare. I don't know how it ended up in the kitchens, but I managed to snatch it up before someone else could."

"Well that's just wonderful, but _what is it_?" He doesn't answer as I settle down across from him on top of my neat nest of blankets, mirroring his cross legged position, knees not quite touching. He's sitting directly in the fading column of sunlight streaking through the window, and it's accenting every crease and fold in the dark red fabric draped across his form.  The odd structure of his familiar face is thrown into sharp shadows that play across his cheekbone, and his eye is brighter than I've ever seen it as he focuses on a small round bundle of cloth nestled in his lap. Looking at him usually settles me, smooths down my prickly edges, but right now, it's making me jittery, like my nerves are frayed and spitting sparks at every little twitch of movement. I flick my eyes back down to his hands right as the last bit of cloth falls away to reveal a bright orange sphere about the size of a child's fist, cradled almost reverently in his hands.

"What is that?" I'd never seen anything like it before.

"It's called a tangerine," I only realize how softly we've been speaking when I have to strain a little to hear his next words. "If you peel the skin away, there's little sections inside that you can eat." I attempt to subdue my fascination as I watch him dig his nail into the side of the little fruit and pull the skin back to reveal a paler shade of orange decorated with thin, white veins. The smell hits me first, curling sharply in my nose with a pleasant tartness that almost makes me dizzy. He drops a section into my hand and watches as I place it between my teeth. It doesn't taste like much until I bite down, bursting the thin membrane with ease and sending the tangy juice sparkling down my throat.

_Oh, god._

It's all so much. The taste in my mouth and the fragrant scent on my fingers is sending my mind reeling into uncharted territory. I don't feel sick anymore, not in the slightest. I feel overwhelmed, like everything's shifting back into alignment after being wrenched askew for so long, but stopping right before it reaches perfection. So close to being on kilter, but not quite there, and for some reason, it's because of me. Each blink sends my nerves into shock, racing to see what it is I need to fix, what door I need to open in order to balance this terrible chaos. I'm disoriented, stumbling and confused and so close to understanding what it is that tossed my mind into this tempest when Rogue speaks, too soft and too loud all at once.

"Levi..." he murmurs, and I look at him, trying not to let the unwarranted panic I'm feeling show on my face. He's staring at the rest of the tangerine, pieces gathered in the center of his long-fingered hand, but when he looks up at me through his eyelashes with my own frantic thoughts reflected calmly in his eye, the click of everything falling into place at once is almost audible, and the storm dissolves as quickly as it appeared. I can feel myself trembling as he raises a section of the wonderful sweet fruit up to my mouth, and I shakily drop my fingers into his palm to grab another slice and do the same to him. I can barely taste it when I swallow, not when he's running the pad of his thumb across my parted lips and shifting his hand to cradle my face. His golden iris glimmers with the last rays of the dying sun as he takes the offered tangerine into his mouth and raises his other hand to hold my fingers against his cheek, the rest of the fruit forgotten on the blankets underneath us. With the clumsy and tentative grace of two feathers bumping into each other on their descent to the ground, and with no more weight than that, his lips brush against mine. 

_I understand._

I can't move, even with the resounding feeling of how _right_ this is, how much _sense_ this makes, I can't even breathe. Rogue shifts, hesitantly pressing his mouth to mine once again, but he's pulled away before I can return the action. I manage a blink, and his face relaxes into a smile so fond that something in my chest twinges painfully. He releases my fingers in favor of threading his own through the longer hair tucked behind my ears, and his thumbs press gently into my cheekbones as he tilts my head and kisses me properly.  

He's _kissing_ me. I didn't even know I _wanted_ to be kissed. I have no idea what I'm doing, but when I notice that he's shaking just as much as I am, some of my nerves fall away, and I try to copy his movements and rest hesitant fingertips on his shoulder. I don't think I've ever felt my heart beat this hard, but the pain is welcome after feeling so horrible for so long. We're a mess, trembling and unsure and awkwardly leaned forward, but this doesn't feel like a mess. It feels like the best thing that's ever happened to me, even if I don't know what to do. It's better than strawberries, it's better than hand cream, and it's better than all the _miswaks_ in the world. I can't help it when I start smiling, and I feel his mouth curve up against mine in response. I don't remember moving at all, but in the next moment, I'm sitting in the hollow of his legs with his arms wound tightly around me, and we're blindly pressing our faces together, trying to get impossibly closer.

"I've never—"

"Me neither—"

"I don't know—"

"Neither do I—"

"Rogue—"

" _Come here_."

Its easy to relax against him, as natural as breathing. He's still trembling a little, and I know my hands definitely haven't stopped shaking, but I can't make myself care when his mouth is pressed against mine and he's getting bolder by the second. I lick my lips, accidentally swiping my tongue across the seam of his in the process, and he lets out a startled gasp of a laugh that makes me do it again. A few minutes later, it's progressed into seeing who can devour who first. His arms are locked tightly around my slender waist, and my hands are fisted in the fabric wrapped around the back of his head. We've gradually figured out how to breathe through our noses so we can stay connected as long as possible without having to break away for air, but everything is so fast and new and _hot_ , and it's so easy to forget. Just when we start to calm down, he'll nip at my lips or I'll suck on his tongue, and we'll start all over again. I'd never imagined kissing could be like this. I'd seen my parents kiss when I was small, and I'd seen plenty of people do more than just kiss in the brothels that litter the kingdom, but I'd never wanted any part in what seemed like a messy and unpleasant act. I've never been happier to be wrong. I _finally_ understand why I've been feeling so strange, and I would go through it all again if it led to Rogue's feverish mouth slotted wonderfully against mine.

Eventually, he leans back to lay on my makeshift bed, taking me with him to curl against his side. One of his arms is threaded under my neck and around my back, angled so his fingers can trace little patterns lightly into my shoulder. He feeds me the rest of the tangerine and moves to press lazy little kisses all around my face when all the slices are gone. I don't bother to hide the small, languid smile that slips its way onto my features, and he pauses his affections, murmuring against the upturned corner of my mouth, "You're _lovely_ when you're happy." I feel my ears burn and my smile grow wider, but I don't turn away. I don't need to hide, not from him.

I'm not sure when my eyes slipped shut, but they're not opening again anytime soon, and when he settles his lips in my hair, all I can think about as I lose myself in this blissful warmth is that he tasted even sweeter than the tangerine.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

 

 _He's beautiful. He's everything I didn't know I wanted, and I've never felt anything more perfect than the press of his little body against me. This whole week was worth the pain, worth the headaches and the awkward tiptoeing and the struggle of repressing the urge to touch him. My whole wreck of a_ life _was worth the pain if it ended up leading me to him. Looking at him now, curled up and snoring softly, makes something in my chest bloom so large that it hurts. I never want to move again. I want to stay in this tower forever, kissing him until I can't breathe anymore. This satisfied happiness I'm feeling now is the absolute opposite of the horrible frustration that was tearing through my mind earlier. For some reason, it wasn't until I was holding those little slices of fruit in my fingers that the world was thrown into a different light, and everything was rearranged around me. The confusion was stripped away, leaving a core-shaking understanding in its place, and when I looked up, I could see the same revelation reflected in his silver eyes. In that moment I realized that no one will ever be this important to me ever again. He's written himself into everything I am, and without him, I wouldn't be myself anymore. Kissing him only sealed my belief. He's the first person I've ever kissed, and I want him to be the last as well. This all happened so fast. It's been a little over a week since I caught him in that alleyway, but I feel like I've known him for so much longer, like he's been standing next to me and making each day less miserable with every snarky thing that leaves his mouth._

_This happiness, this genuine sense of perfection, does not come unaccompanied._

_I have to tell him._

_The longer this secret is kept, the more it will upset him. I know I said that I'd be around until he told me to leave, but I know now that I will never be able to keep that promise. If I tell him who I am and he says he never wants to see me again, I'll beg at his feet until he changes his mind. I know he hates my family, blames them for the loss of his own, but I've never lied to him, and I never will. I'm hoping that will be enough to keep him from despising me._

_I have to tell him, and nothing scares me more than the fact that the truth could very well push him away._

_It makes me feel sick to dwell on, so I shove the thought into the darkest corners of my mind, resigning myself to watching him sleep and running my fingers through his silky black hair. I don't let myself doze off in fear of being missed at the Palace, but I watch him until the sun starts to rise, memorizing every detail of his face before covering him in blankets and slipping out the door, only to slip back in moments later to leave him something to wake up to._

_I head towards the palace through the sleeping streets and wrinkle my nose when I think of all the paperwork waiting for me. I've been spending most of my time trying to formulate proper reports with accurate statistics in order to see just how much of a mess my father has made, but it's long and tedious work, and it's been keeping me away from Levi for too much of the day. Walking through the little door in the wall and out the guardshed immediately has me frustrated when I'm met with the sight of half my guard lazing around the gardens. I tear off this ridiculous fabric covering my eye and fix them all with a glare that has them standing at attention in seconds._

_"What are your current assignments?" I_ _snap, stalking towards them with tired irritation._

_I'm not sure who speaks, but a voice answers, "We haven't been given any yet, Your Highness." Idiots, the lot of them, they can't do anything unless Erwin or I spoon-feed them instructions._

_"Nine of you need to patrol the wall until shift change, I don't care who. See that it's done. The rest of you, check the chart inside the guardshed and squabble amongst yourselves over who does what." As I'm walking away, something reaches my ears that makes me a special sort of furious. Something along the lines of the wall being no fun because no one ever comes along to "play" with them. I freeze and turn around slowly, watching them all jerk into attention when they see me staring again. I slowly walk back over to them, the taste of anger hot and metallic in my mouth. "I don't know who said what I just heard, but if I catch_ any _of you "playing" around with_ anyone _while you're on shift, I will personally beat you all bloody, I don't care who's responsible. Do I make myself clear?" I wait until I hear little murmurs of "Yes, Your Highness" before turning and walking away. I thank my lucky stars for Erwin Smith, because I wouldn't command any respect from anyone if he hadn't suggested I go through their training with them. I used to respect them too, until they started doing unacceptable things, thinking I wouldn't find out. They're still good fighters, good protectors, but they're bloody foolish when it comes to common sense._

_I let the thought drop from my mind as I walk into my bedroom, right past my desk stacked with papers, and flop onto my bed with an exhausted groan, counting the seconds until I can go back to Levi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT. YES. FINAALLLLYYYY.  
> Also the miswak is real and supposedly more than effective than a toothbrush and available online.  
> Okay I really want to know what y'all think so please give me sugar and leave comments even if it's just a squee. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at bitchflavoredicecube  
> I love you allllll


	8. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No more secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my apology for not meeting deadlines. Next update will come around sometime this next weekend. 
> 
> IMPORTANT TRIGGER WARNING:  
> This chapter is rough. It's why there's a violence warning, and it's also the only one with attempted non-con. **THE NON-CON IS NOT BETWEEN EREN AND LEVI**  
> It's very clear where it starts. 
> 
> Okay y'all are warned. See you soon.

I wake up alone, and I hate the part inside me that clenches painfully at the realization. Even though I fell asleep wrapped against his chest last night, I didn't expect him to stay until I woke up, not really.

But I had hoped.

I know he has responsibilities, and that I'm probably not his first priority, but after last night, after finally knowing what it's like to be so _close_ to him, I can't help myself. I feel like he took a part of me with him when he left for the palace this morning. I've been alone for most of my life, and I've perfected the art of ignoring the slight emptiness, quietly aching behind my ribs, but it's never been this crippling before. I can't help but think myself a fool. This pain wouldn't be so noticeable if I'd resisted his affections, but to resist _his_ affections would be to resist my own as well. I made myself sick I was so confused, and now that everything makes sense and I'm finally _happy_ , it would be a waste to reject my own feelings. I've never felt so _dependent_ before, never needed anyone desperately enough to crave them in their absence. It scares me how much I wish he was here right now. We haven't changed at all, and I'd never missed his company like this _before_ , but—

But then _he'd kissed me._

With the dying sun illuminating his form and his golden eye the brightest I had ever seen it as he gently pressed the tangy fruit against my lips, he was more beautiful than any one person has the right to be. No one has ever looked at me like that before, like I was important, like I was _everything_. When people see me, they see a beggar, a short, dirty, bitter little man with no future. Rogue has never once looked at me like he sees that. From the first time I'd opened my eyes and seen gold, I'd been treated like a person. A small, overly-prideful person that didn't ask for the cards he was dealt.

He's never made me feel weak. Not when he picked me up and carried me like a child, not when he brought me back from the brink of death, and not when he brushed his lips against mine, just as unsure and hesitant as I felt.

When I think about it, I realize this desperate longing doesn't make me weak. I keep thinking about how he clung to me, like he needed me to survive, and I feel _powerful_. I'd never really considered that this could go both ways. What if he craves my company as much as I crave his? With this thought, I can't wait until he gets back, especially now that everything is the best kind of different.

I sit all the way up in my twisted mess of blankets and stretch like a cat, feeling my sleepy joints crack beautifully, and I notice for the first time that there is a cloth to my right on the floor, twisted up around some unknown object. When I shift over to examine it, I realize there is a flower resting on top of the parcel, a delicate white flower with four soft petals and bright pink filaments arcing out gracefully from the center. I can't fight the smile that settles on my face as I admire his gift, and I stretch up to set it on the windowsill closest to my spot on the floor, enjoying how it looks in the sunlight. Distantly, I'm disgusted with myself, wrapped in blankets and staring dreamily at a flower, but I can't help it.

I've never been this happy.

When I finally get up and dress myself, I'm at a loss for what to do. I walk over to the window and look at the kingdom sprawled out in front of me. Before two nights ago, when I saw the whole kingdom in the light of the setting sun, I hadn't noticed that the streets I lived on for so long all arc towards the the Sultan's palace. It really is beautiful, towering above the kingdom so grandly, even if such horrible people live there. Rogue has described it to me in a such a detailed manner that I can only imagine the inside as being even more magnificent than the outside, all gleaming white marble and golden pillars, cold shining floors and grand colorful tapestries, luxury laced through every stone. I wonder if he's there now, and I wonder what he's doing— if he's thinking of me like I can't stop thinking of him, remembering my skin under his gentle hands and his breath ruffling through my hair as we fell asleep.

It'll be awhile before he's back. He hasn't left me anything to do, and I'm not going to spend the day cooped up again. I did enough reclusive moping yesterday, when the churning of my stomach was making me want to vomit.

I could go see the palace, even if it's only from the outside.

After all those stories, it's not enough to look at it from afar, I want to look at its walls, see those massive towers up close. Time will go faster if I go out and do something. I slowly wrap my turban around my head, feeling lazy and languid and warmed from the inside out. I'm about to walk out of the room when I remember there was something in the cloth that I'd taken the flower from, and I sink to my knees and deftly unwrap the filmy blue fabric. There's another tangerine nestled in the folds, and I feel my face grow hot at the recent memories that accompany the beautiful fruit in front of me.

I don't want to eat it now, and I'm sure Rogue wouldn't object if I asked him to help me eat it later.

 

\-----

 

I don't think I'll ever be able to walk these streets without being nervous. I'm fully capable of defending myself, and I would never hesitate defend someone else from the scum lurking in the shadows, but the aftermath of fighting always leaves me in a bad place, usually in pieces on the ground, struggling to pull myself together while my brain is trying to tear me apart. It's not very intimidating to take someone down and then proceed to fall into a shaking heap on the ground. I've been doing so well lately— ever since I gave Rogue a black eye, I haven't had an episode. It's a fine streak in my opinion.

I pull my cloak tighter around myself and keep moving, weaving through the market crowd and towards the tall golden-domed pillars of the palace. It's not long before I can see the massive wall that encircles it's grounds, and I quicken my pace until I'm standing in front of it. I walk along the wall, hoping to find a gate to peek through, when I realize there's no one else around. It's too quiet, too deserted for comfort, and I don't want to be here anymore. There's a street a few meters away from me, and I'm about to dart into the shadows to calm down and be on my way when a voice cuts through my whirlwind of nerves.

"Little _sweetheart_ , are you lost?"

I immediately turn and walk in the opposite direction, trying not to let any humiliation or panic show on my face. I've forgotten what people think of me, of what I am and apparently always will be, because of Rogue. He treats me like a person, which is a luxury I hadn't experienced since Isabel and Farlan. I wish he was here. I don't want to think about how things were before I agreed to let him help me. I still don't quite understand why he bothers, why he keeps coming back to me, but if yesterday was anything to go by, I'm sure I can come up with a few guesses. I'll ask him all these things when I see him tonight, and maybe he'll kiss me again. I smile and unconsciously raise my fingertips to my lips, remembering the sweet tang of tangerine and the soft weight of his fingers on my face, before jerking my hand away. _Stupid, you're being stupid_ , I think to myself, _he's made you soft and foolish, and when he hurts you it's only going to be more painful._

"Hey angel, it's rude to walk away when someone's talking to you." This voice is different, but holds the same disgusting sweetness as the first one.

I whirl around to glare at the speaker, ready to beat the condescending tone out of that nasty voice, and I see a chillingly familiar uniform. _Kingsguard_. He's not alone either, there's five other men flanking the leader, and I know my limits. I can't fight this many armed men, not all at once. I turn around and almost crash into three more of them, blocking the entrance to the other street I was headed towards, and I feel fear, cold and cruel, bolt it's way up my spine as I back away from them.

"You're awfully pretty aren't you? _Why don't you come and play with us for awhile?_ "

I'm sprinting before my brain can catch up with my legs. My heart is slamming, desperate and painful against my ribs with exertion, but in the end, it's not enough. I'm too small, too slow to stand a chance of outrunning this many trained guards. I frantically spin around as they surround me, looking for an escape, but there's no space small enough for me to slip away. A heavy touch lands on my shoulder, and I suppress a shudder before turning, grabbing his wrist, and twisting as hard as I can. His face twists in pain as the snap of his bone echoes in my ears, and I feel nauseous. I've only made them angry now, the one with the broken wrist is snarling profanities at me, and I feel the cold, thick fog that comes with being afraid fighting it's way into my lungs. From behind me, a hand grabs my turban and rips it off my head, and I wince as some of my hair is ripped out with it. When I turn around to defend myself, there's another hand fisting itself in my hair, twisting my neck cruelly and throwing me to the ground. I attempt to curl my legs up to protect my stomach, but I'm kicked viscously at the base of my spine, and there are hands all over me when I try to twist away. I thrash around, kicking and clawing and doing _anything_ to **_get these hands off of me_** , but it's no use.

They manage to grab my wrists and wrench my arms behind my back, hard enough to flip me over and press my face into the dirt. One of them is standing over me now while the other one has my hands twisted painfully up against my spine, and I'm shaking with a mixture of fury and terror. The one behind me yanks my hips off the ground, jarring my neck and pushing my head harder against the dusty ground. There's another fist in my hair, forcing a grunt out of my clenched teeth as it yanks my head backwards. A rough voice snarls, sticky and revolting, right in my ear, "Be a good little _bitch_ for us, and maybe we won't get rid of you when we're done."

My whole body jerks away in disgust, and I'm rewarded with a sharp slap to the side of my head that leaves my ears ringing. "Stay still, princess. My, my, you're not being very good," the man growls and shoves my face back into the dirt, trapping it under the crusty sole of his boot. "Maybe I should choke that fire out of you." He grabs the cloak still twisted around my neck, and starts yanking viciously on the fabric, pulling it tight against my throat. _No_ , I think, _No no no I can't move, my hands are stuck there's a boot on my face I'm going to die I can't breathe **I can't breathe**._ Panicked black speckles dance across my vision, and just when my body starts to feel fuzzy and no longer in my control, he releases the cloak and steps back, leaving me shocked and limp on the ground. When I inhale, I'm not prepared for how much it hurts. The air burns it's way through my throat before rattling around in my ribcage and tearing me open from the inside. I'm coughing and choking, trying not to swallow any dirt as I pull as much air into my lungs as possible.

Just when I think I can't get any more panicked than I already am, I hear the distinctive sound of fabric sliding down skin. They're actually going to do it. These guards, these _defenders of the Sultan_ are going to watch as one or more of their own men humiliates me. A large, meaty hand rests on the small of my back, and I grit my teeth as he slides it over my hip to curl around the inside of my thigh. "You're not even standing up yet darling," the man rasps , "We should fix that." When he moves his hand up and goes to force it down my pants, I come to a morbid realization.

I would rather die than be shamed and violated like this.

I scream.

I scream as loud as I can and desperately try to jerk away from his sweaty hands again. He digs his grimy fingers into my hip and tries to clap a hand over my mouth, but I bite down on his palm with enough force to draw blood before throwing my head back as hard as I can, crushing his nose with the back of my skull. He tears his hands away from me and jumps back with a grunt of pain, swearing loudly, before growling something at one of the others. My arms are twisted hard enough to make my screams stutter, and I hear heavy footsteps as another guard steps up behind me. This one doesn't speak, he simply bends down to where my hands are being held behind my back, grabs one of my fingers, and bends it backwards until it snaps. I feel hot droplets sliding down my face at the sharp agony, and I'm no longer sure if I'm screaming, or crying, or a mixture of both. I only know I haven't stopped, even though I have sand and tears in my mouth, and my voice is barely cracking it's way through my painfully raw throat.

There's nothing I can do. I can't move enough to fight, I can't even breathe right. This is finally the end, and I didn't think that thought would ever make me so frantic. I'm going to be violated and left to die, and I'll never see Rogue again, unless he finds my body, lifeless and abandoned in the street. I'm preparing to struggle with my last bit of energy, to twist and thrash until I break my own arms if it comes to that, and then I hear a voice that stops my wildly beating heart, a familiar voice filled with unfamiliar coldness.

" _What. In the seven hells. **Is going on here.**_ "

It can't be.

It can't possibly be.

"What do you _pigs_ think you're doing? How could you—"

I furiously blink the moisture from my eyes and attempt to look at the owner of the chillingly furious voice. What I see simultaneously fills me with both crippling relief and horrible dread. I recognize the broad shoulders and the straight-backed posture, but I don't recognize the white silk, the glittery strands of jewels accessorizing his ears and bare feet, or the thick brown hair, half pulled back and tied neatly at the back of his head. The golden eye I know so well is paired with one of equally brilliant clashing turquoise, and they're both locked on my face, filled with horror. I watch the color drain from his unfamiliarly aristocratic features as he takes a shaky step forward.

" _Levi_..." He whispers, and I watch him flicker through a multitude of emotions before settling into a dark rage. He stalks furiously towards me, and I shrink away from him, not recognizing the person using his voice, only to realize he's after the guards, who are currently frozen in terror.

"Take your _disgusting_ hands off of him. _Right. Now_."

They immediately release me and step away, and I gasp as my arms drop to the ground, completely numb and useless to keep me from falling over onto my side. I can hear him speaking, voice cracking sharper than a whip, and all I can do is shake hard enough to rattle my teeth and stir the dust around my battered body. I flinch when he shouts, fierce and violent while gesturing at me, but when I look at him, I notice he's positioned himself protectively between me and the guards, who are currently prostrated in the dirt at his feet.

They're submitting to their Prince.

 _Rogue is the Prince_.

I can't believe this.

He snarls at them one more time before turning to me. I glare balefully at him from the ground, but he doesn't hesitate to pick me up anyways, and I grit my teeth as the movement jars my ribs. I hate that my shaking stops at the contact, but it gives me an opportunity to realize everything all at once.

I let him in. I'd allowed him into my head, into my _heart_ , and he betrayed me. I told him everything, and he told me _lies_. Rogue is dead to me. He never even existed— the man I've just given _everything_ to is nothing more than the bastard Prince of the kingdom he's been pretending to care about.

I hate him.

_I hate him._

"I'm so sorry Levi." He spoke so quietly I almost didn't hear him, but I know he's apologizing for everything, for keeping such a massive secret and for what just happened to me, even if the latter is in no way his fault. When I finally get my anger under enough control to be able to temporarily stand the sight of him and look at his face, he looks wounded, broken. If I had the strength to twist out of his grip and run away, I wouldn't hesitate to do so. I would run as far as possible from his agonized expression, and I would hide away and live as I did before he ever came into my life. I would rather let myself starve to death than go through the pain of this betrayal.  No matter what he says, we are on uneven ground now. I suppose for him, we always were. We reach the wall, and he yanks open a small door I'd overlooked when I was walking around earlier. There's a hulking blond man sitting in a massive chair with two others standing next to him. They all look at me, and I await their inevitable judgement, but I am surprised when the only emotion showing in their faces is varying levels of concern.

"Eren," the large man speaks evenly with a deep, commanding voice, "What have you done? What happened?"

"Your guards, Erwin." He growls lowly. I look at him again, and he no longer looks broken. He looks murderous, and I find myself shrinking away from the expression that I never thought I'd see on his face.

"Armin, I need you to help him. I'm going to go deal with the scum myself." The smaller blond looks horrified at his words.

"What are you going to do to them?" He whispers nervously, glancing between me and the enraged Prince.

The huge man pushes himself to his feet and walks over to us, clapping a gigantic hand on his shoulder and forcing the Prince to look at him. "Eren, you'll be on your own this time. I won't be able to shield you from Grisha."

"Look at what they did to him," he hisses, "Look at what those _animals_ did to Levi."

I'm confused, but I don't have time to ask questions before the third person, a raven-haired woman, is shoving the massive man aside and wordlessly taking me from the Prince. "Don't let him leave." He growls.

"Eren—" she starts in a low, cautious voice.

"No Mikasa! This is too far!" He's radiating fury now, but she doesn't flinch away, only raises her chin and looks down her nose at him. He steps close enough for me to feel the dangerous heat coming off of him in waves. "I will not stand for this any longer." He snaps darkly. "To hell with Grisha." He's gone with the slam of a door before I can open my mouth.

"What's—" I swallow and try again, with an exhausted voice that isn't dry enough to shatter. "What's he going to do?" The woman holding me scoffs as she transfers me to the floor, where the small man has a blanket laid out with a bag of medical supplies sitting next to it.

"You're not very smart are you?" Her tone makes me bristle. I'm about to snap at her when Erwin, the blond giant, kneels beside me and frowns, focusing on my face like he's analyzing my features and hoping to find some answer to a question that hasn't been asked.

"He's going to go thrash every one of those guards within an inch of their lives because they put their hands on you." I'm perversely satisfied at those words, but the small man's following outburst of shock doesn't even give me the chance to wish good riddance upon those disgusting slobs.

"Erwin, Grisha's going to kill him! Can't you do something?"

I'm tired of being ignored and interrupted. "Will somebody _please_ tell me what's going on?" They all stop talking immediately and stare at me, like they'd forgotten I was here. The small blond speaks up first as he digs around in what I assume to be a medical bag.

"I'm Armin." The man's voice is clearly meant to be soothing, but it only serves to irritate me as he tucks his chin-length blond hair behind his ears and pulls a bottle of alcohol out of his bag. "I'm Eren's friend, and I'm here to make sure none of your injuries are fatal. That's Erwin," he gestures to the guard, "and that's Mikasa." The dark haired girl raises an eyebrow at me from where she's leaning against the wall. "I'm not sure what all he's told you, but I suppose it doesn't matter now, because—"

"Don't." I interrupt bitterly, "Don't bother."

Armin dips a square of gauze in the alcohol and moves towards me. "I know what you're thinking," he murmurs, swiping the thin white fabric across a cut above my eyebrow. I hiss at the sting, and he glances down at me with blue eyes far too calculating for comfort. "He's never lied to you." If he already knows what in my head, I'm sure he has hundreds of different arguments ready to change my mind. "He's the Prince. There are secrets he has to keep, even from us, his oldest friends. But he's never lied, I don't believe he would ever lie to you, not when you mean so much to him." My stomach twists at his words.

"Why didn't he _tell_ me?" I can feel my anger returning. "I told him _everything_. I _trusted_ him. Why wouldn't he tell me something this important?"

Armin gives me a sad smile as he puts the gauze and alcohol away before rubbing a salve of some sort into my cuts and scrapes. "Would you have treated him the same? Accepted his help?" I am stunned into silence, because I know he's right. I wouldn't have treated him the same. There's no way I would've let myself sink low enough to be willingly doted on by the rotten Royal Family. Now that I know who he is, I don't want his help ever again. I'm done. The silence is crippling as I lie still with Armin shuffling around and bandaging various parts of my body. I hate the Prince, or Rogue, or whoever the hell he is. His whole personality was nothing but a façade, an ideal image that only existed in my mind.

Armin's setting my fingers against some stiff material when I hear the Prince's voice bellow furiously, and Mikasa moves to put her cold hands over my ears, but she's not quite fast enough to keep me from hearing the blood-curdling scream of someone in excruciating pain. Armin has paused his movements, and his eyes are wide in his pallid face. I shake Mikasa's hands away to hear him shakily utter, "Erwin..."

"I won't stop him. Not now." I crane my neck to look at up the Commander, and his face is stony, menacing, with glaring chips of ice in place of his eyes. I realize that he wants them punished just as much as the Prince Eren does, even if it puts the Prince in a dangerous position when the Sultan finds out. He was never planning on stopping him.

As if he can be summoned by thought, the door slams open, and Prince Eren stomps in, hair a wild mess around his head, and white silks no longer so white. His feet are bloody where they've been lacerated by the jewels, and he looks feral, vicious, until he sees me spread out on the floor, shirtless and covered in bandages, and his expression morphs into pained concern. Armin, Mikasa, and Erwin slip away into another room as he walks over to my side and falls to his knees, head bowed.

I don't give him the chance to speak. "Help me stand." He looks up so fast I'm surprised he doesn't hurt himself.

"What?" He asks, disbelief evident in his voice, "You- you're injured! You're in no state to be going _anywhere!_ "

"And you're in no state to be telling me what to do." I refuse to stay in this room any longer, listening to him plead with me when he doesn't have the right.

"You can't go anywhere!" He repeats desperately. "I don't want you getting hurt any more than you already are, Levi, _please_ —"

"Are you commanding me to stay?"

His eyes widen with shock and his mouth drops open a fraction. "Am I— What?"

"Are you commanding me to stay, _Your Highness?_ " I snap, glaring at him icily. I feel emotionless and cruel. Cold and reflective as a mirror.

I watch as he breaks before me, and I am unfeeling, unflinching. My frigidity is absolute, even when twin tears silently streak from the corners of his shattered eyes and roll off his jaw. "No," he begs shakily, "No, no, no, _please_ Levi, _please_ don't— I-I would never—"

I look away from him before speaking in a voice that is eerily flat, even for me. "Help me stand up, or I'll do it myself."

I know he's still staring, frozen in shock and making no move to assist me, so I haul myself up into a sitting position and slowly rise to my feet. I was expecting it to hurt more, but I can't feel anything other than uncomfortable little twinges when I move wrong. I walk to the door, limping only slightly, and open it wide to reveal the bright, scorching sun before glancing back at him. He's still staring at the floor where I was laying moments ago, the same fractured expression on his face. The only difference is the sudden deluge of tears, dripping soundlessly off his chin and onto the floor.

He closes his eyes when I speak, like he can shield himself from my words with the weight of his eyelids, but my voice is sharpened, meant to stab and twist and break what's already broken. "Don't follow me," I turn away from his devastated form and grief-stricken face. "You should've let me die."

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

_Of all the things he could've said to me, that had to be the worst. Before he snapped those last words, I felt like I was being ripped to pieces, like each sentence was accompanied by a furious slash of claws. Telling me I should've let him die was like plunging my mind into icy water, as if I'd completely bypassed my threshold for pain and crossed over into a territory of frigid and cloying numbness. I know I'm crying, I can feel the tears leaving my eyes, but that's where all sensation stops. My feet are torn up from the crystals I was wearing, and my knuckles are a wreck again, but I can't feel any of the pain. I can't feel anything but the jagged slashes Levi left behind._

_Part of me wishes I would've told him everything right away, but I know that he would've reacted badly, and I never would've gotten to have that little taste of true happiness. So many days of confusion and frustration, and in the end, the only reward was a mere dip into the pool of what could've been. It's my own fault. I was a fool to think everything would turn out alright._

_I wish I wasn't so numb. I think I'd prefer feeling something to feeling nothing. I deserve the pain after what he's had to go through because of me. I can't erase what happened; no matter how much blood I pounded out of everyone who tried to hurt him today, he'll still feel their hands on his body for who knows how long. I am directly responsible for his suffering._ I _was the one who put those guards on the wall,_ I _was the one who couldn't keep him safe, and_ I _was the one who dealt him the final blow on top of all his other wounds. How could he know I've never lied to him when he sees my very identity as false?_

_I hear the door open behind me, and Mikasa marches through the room, barely glancing at me before stalking through the open door and letting it slam behind her. I can feel myself getting up, but the act doesn't register until I'm standing by the solid slab of wood, staring at the knotted grain and wondering why I let him leave. My own body was too shocked to move, let alone stop him. He would have resented me for keeping him here, but he would've been alive to do it. So many things could happen to him, especially given the state he's in, and I let him get away._

_I flex my fingers, and the fresh scabs on my knuckles sting as they split open._

_Good._

_I draw my arm back and smash my fist into the solid wood of the door. The impact sends a shock wave through my body, so I do it again with my other hand. I can feel myself unthawing with each connection of my skin to the wood, and I don't stop my merciless pounding, even when I hear my own bones cracking. The pain is welcome, even soothing as it fills up the holes inside me. I'm staining the door dark red, but it's staining me right back, burying it's splinters in my mutilated flesh. It's only when it starts rattling on its hinges that I feel the throbbing, but it doesn't make me stop. There are voices yelling at me, shouting my name, but I am relentless, uncaring until a strong arm wraps around my middle and yanks me away from the abused wood. I'm dazed for a few seconds, but when I look down at my hands and see a gory mixture of mangled bloody skin and splinters opened all the way down to my own cracked bones, my numbness leaves as quickly as it came. I feel_ everything _, and it's so overwhelmingly painful that all I can do is scream, and I scream at the throbbing agony of my hands and my head and my heart until I can't scream anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY IT HAD TO HAPPEN  
> I STILL LOVE YOU ALL  
> I HOPE YOU LOVE ME TOO  
> SEE YOU IN A FEW DAYS


	9. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALS WEEK IS OVER HELL YEAH  
> I am not smart. I thought I was smart. I am not.  
> BUT THATS OKAY BECAUSE HEY NEW CHAPTER HEYYY  
> I wish I felt bad about the cliffhanger last time, but alas, I do not.  
> I love this chapter, so do enjoy.  
> Nice.

I walk quickly, losing my composure little by little until I'm furiously swiping angry tears from my eyes and gritting my teeth to hold back any noises trying to escape my throat. My frigid indifference started melting the second I stepped foot in the sun, and now I'm trying to find a good spot to sit down and fall apart. I wish more than anything for the numbness to come back. It would be bliss in comparison to this terror. I've never been so afraid as I was when I was being held down by those guards, never been so frantic and desperate to escape from _anything_ before. Finding out Rogue's true identity had sent my already frenzied mind over the edge. All I could feel was blistering anger, and even that was muted and cottony, but I latched on to it. I latched on to the only thing I could feel, and directed it all at the only person there to receive it. I was angry with him, and I still am angry with him, but I was cruel. I unleashed all my pain and fear and vexation on someone who didn't deserve it. I had words for him, but they weren't the ones that left my mouth. I don't know how to feel or what to do. I want so much to go back to being locked in my cold, numbing anger, but my mind keeps replaying to how I treated Ro—

The Prince.

He's the Prince.

He's the Prince, but he saved me. He's saved me so many times. He's been avoiding the palace to spend time with me. He's been agonizing over how many people in this city don't have enough to eat, and he's been stealing from _himself_ to fix the problem his father created. He showed me the sunset. _He kissed me_. He viciously thrashed his own guards because they hurt me. He chose _me_ over everything.

He chose me over everything, and he cried when I left him.

But he also lied to me.

The one person I was sure I could trust, the one person who I thought trusted _me_ , kept one of the biggest secrets I can even imagine, and I found out in the worst possible way. It makes me wonder what other lies he's told, if when he promised he'd never lie to me, that was a lie too.

I haven't made much progress, even though I thought I was moving quickly. I can still see the pale wall that encircles the palace peeking through the mouth of this alley, but I'm far enough away to sit down, I think. My ankles feel like they might break if I walk too much longer, and the dull throbbing in my ribs and fingers is making me feel sick. I'm about to sink to the ground when a noise reaches my ears that freezes my blood. It's muted by the distance, but I can still hear it well enough to know what it is.

He's screaming.

He's screaming like someone is peeling the skin off his body. Like he's _dying_. My ankles quit, and I fall to the ground in a painful mess with my hands jammed against my ears as tightly as I can manage. I did that to him. I can dimly feel my body being wracked with silent sobs as my mind descends into a frenzied panic for the first time in awhile. My ribs protest whenever my chest expands, but it's all beyond my control. Even with my hands over my ears, I'm surrounded by his scream. I can feel it cutting me, like he's laying a blade into my flesh over and over hissing, _you did this, you did this_. The screaming doesn't stop, and I'm wishing I was far away, far enough to escape the sound of his agony, but I can't move, and I'm encompassed by the noise, imprisoned by the pain I caused him.

I'm jerked out of my own head by a giant amount of frigid water. I try to scramble to my feet, but the second I put my hand down, I remember with a sharp sting that my finger is broken. I blink through my soggy bangs to glare up at the woman standing in front of me with a rain barrel in her hands, and I'm met with the sight of cold black eyes and wisps of matching raven hair trying to escape the confines of a bright red _hijab_. Even with the extra fabric draped around her features, I still recognize her.

"Silly me," Mikasa says dryly, "Now your bandages are all wet, and you'll have to come back to the palace so Armin can redo them." Her tone of voice makes it very clear she's not going to hear any arguments, and I know she's far more capable than her appearance suggests. She sticks out a hand, and I take it warily, letting myself be pulled to my feet. I stagger at first, but her strong, icy fingers gripping my shoulder keep me from falling again. When she doesn't remove them I look up at her face to see her staring at me, and I bristle a little at the defensive, almost protective glint to her coal black eyes. "What is he to you?" She speaks casually, but her expression betrays her attempt at nonchalance.

I can't say I'm entirely taken aback by her question, but I don't have an answer. I know how I feel about Rogue, but I don't know how to feel about the Prince. I don't know if they're the same person or not. I shake her hand off and motion for her to start walking, and she gives me a long analytical look before stalking off in the direction of the palace. Even a glance at the wall floods my mind with the events of earlier, and I want so desperately to stop thinking about him crying on the floor.

I keep hearing him begging me to stay in the shed, to stay with him. It almost hurts worse than the screams did.

I'm limping behind Mikasa, who keeps checking to make sure I haven't gone anywhere, and the closer we get to the door in the wall, the more unstable I feel. Ever since this morning, since the guards almos— since the guards, I've felt like there's a storm building inside of me, growing more and more intense, but not quite breaking yet. Every dripping step that leads me closer to him makes my chest tighten just a little, but as my nerves grow, my anger disappears. I was furious with him, but I never gave him any sort of chance to explain himself, choosing instead to snap at him and walk away. I don't know if I'd ever be able to forgive someone who said such horrible things like that. I want to blame my overreaction on how rattled I was, but in the end, I used my words to abuse him, and that's all that matters. Now that my head is clearer, I know for a fact that I hurt him _so_ much more than he could ever hurt me.

I'm shivering with both waterlogged cold and dreadful anticipation, hoping that whatever Rogue or the Prince or whoever he is won't say something that sends me into an episode right in front of these people I barely know. Nothing would be more pathetic. We finally reach the wooden door, and when Mikasa steps over the threshold, I hear her cry out before running further into the room and dropping to the floor. I close the door behind me and follow her over to where she landed on her knees next to Erwin. The sight before me is completely overwhelming.

Prince Eren is laying on the floor, unconscious, with Armin grimly working on one of his hands, and Erwin holding the other by the wrist. Oh his hands, his poor hands... His knuckles are a ruined bloody mess, with splinters embedded into his skin so thickly that it looks like it's been splattered with mud. I turn back to scrutinize the closed door, horrified at the sight of the dark stains and the pale spots where the wood has been stripped away. I'm assuming that's where all the splinters buried in his knuckles came from. I take a staggering step forward, and Erwin looks over at me emotionlessly, turning the Prince's wrist just slightly in the process, and giving me a better view of just how much he's hurt himself.

He's laid open his skin in fleshy bands, worn away in some spots, torn to ribbons in others. His hands are mangled so badly that there isn't enough skin left to bruise, and I can't breathe. I can't breathe because this is my fault. He's _told_ me, he's told me _specifically_ how he "stabilizes" himself when he gets upset. I feel a tear escape my widened eye to slide down my shocked face, and I want to back away, back far away from the destruction I left in the wake of my foolish anger, but my feet are rooted to the spot. I start shaking my head frantically because what I'm seeing _can't possibly be real_ , but when his finger twitches and I watch a slick, ropy tendon slide jerkily over the pale, exposed bone of his knuckle, it's all I can take. My abdomen can't handle the sight, and my mind can't handle the repetitive chant of _all my fault all my fault all my fault._ I drop to my hands and knees as my stomach empties it's contents all over the wooden floor in front of me. Stinging moisture drips down my face at the burning in my throat and the stabbing in my side as my splintered ribs are jarred by my violent retching, but I can't stop it. My stomach keeps heaving until I'm left coughing up yellow acid that scorches through my entire mouth. My vision is blurry, and my arms are shaking with the effort of holding my body up and keeping my face from landing in my own vomit.

Surprisingly, it's Mikasa who gets to her feet and hooks her arms under mine, lifting me up, dragging me away from the mess I've made and transferring me to lean against the wall in a soaked, panting heap behind the Prince's head. She wordlessly hands me a skin of water, and I take a few weak sips before offering it back to her, but she puts her hands up and moves over to where she was previously kneeling with a muttered "keep it". I turn my attention back to the scene in front of me and want to cry again, even with the added raw pain of my throat. I shift to my side and tuck my legs behind me, scooting closer to him. His dark hair is splayed out in a thick, tangly halo around his head, and his eyes are closed, but the surrounding skin is visibly red and irritated in his pallid face. I can see the sticky marks left behind by tears streaking down his cheeks, tears that I caused. I manage to maintain some semblance of composure, not wanting to break again in front of these people who just watched me be sick all over the floor.

Armin's solemnly pulling the last splinters out of the Prince's right hand when his eyelids start to twitch. "Armin..." Erwin's deep voice warns.

"I know. Don't let him move his hands." I watch silently as Erwin shifts and reaches across the Prince's torso to grab his other wrist, and Armin gingerly plucks a damp sponge off the ground. Mismatched eyes snap open suddenly, and his body jerks once, but Erwin's grip is tight, and Armin is already pressing the sponge gently over Prince Eren's mouth and nose, and he keeps it there until those crazed eyes slowly slip shut again.

"What... what are you doing to him?" I ask quietly, unsure if I should be speaking or not.

"He was hysterical after you left," Armin looks up and raises an eyebrow accusingly before turning and digging around in his bag. "Especially once he noticed what he'd done to his hands. He wouldn't stop screaming. It got to a point where he was shaking so hard I thought he was going to hurt himself, so I fixed up some makeshift anesthesia with some things from my bag and knocked him out." He unravels a thin string from around a needle and starts stitching the ruined skin back together. "It's for the better. He'd be in excruciating pain if he was awake for this. I'm not sure he'd be able to stay still enough for me to help him."

I hate myself. I'd heard those screams, and it was the most bone-chilling sound to ever reach my ears. "How badly did he hurt himself?" I whisper hesitantly, closing my eyes and preparing for the worst.

"I'm not sure how bad the nerve damage will be," Armin mutters around the needle in his mouth, "but he's lucky. Most of the trauma is superficial. His right hand should be fine, a couple of hairline fractures, I suspect, but again mostly just damage to his skin." My eyes open as I release a breath I didn't know I was holding, and he finishes tying an impossibly small knot with the thread before grabbing the needle from between his teeth and starting again. "I'm worried about his left hand though," he continues soberly. "I think he broke a few of his metacarpals— ah, the bones in his palm. I haven't set any bones in that area before, I'll have to think of something new."

I feel myself pale at his statement, and I look back down at his face, shifting to sit on my knees behind his head and moving my good hand to trace his features, thumbing over his cheekbones and exploring everything that's been hidden behind fabric. The bones around his golden eye still hold a slight trace of yellow bruising from when I hit him all those days ago, but they feel exactly the same as the bones around his turquoise eye. Only one side is familiar to me, but it's no different from the side I hadn't seen yet. If these two sides of his face are the same, why wouldn't the two sides of him that I've met be the same as well? He's the Prince, but why couldn't he be Rogue too? He looks so strange this way, so much younger and vulnerable than when he's cloaked in red, but he's easily recognizable. I can still see Rogue as I look at this Prince, and he's... beautiful.

He was beautiful even when I couldn't see his face.

He has a name.

I try it in my mind first, testing out the feel and the fit before I say it, and it rolls off my tongue like I was always meant to say it.

_"Eren."_

 

\-------

 

I think I've died. There no possible way that anything in real life is this comfortable. I don't know what I'm laying on, but it's the softest thing that's ever come in contact with my skin. The upper half of my body is wedged tightly against something warm, and I don't think I ever want to move again. It takes me a couple seconds to realize that there are fingers lightly tracing my spine, and the sensation causes the days events to flood back into my mind all at once. There is only one person I can think of who would touch me like this, and he was unconscious on the ground in front of me as I fell asleep studying his face. I open my eyes only to realize that I've buried my nose in his shoulder. He doesn't acknowledge me when I raise my head to look at him, but his fingers pause briefly on my spine before resuming their ministrations. He's staring at the ceiling, looking lost and utterly exhausted, and just as I realize my surroundings are very lavish and very _very_ unfamiliar, he speaks.

"Hello," he murmurs quietly, "I didn't think you would come back." My eyes focus on the hand laying across his chest, wrapped in thick white bandages with the last two fingers extended awkwardly.

"Does it hurt?" I ask faintly, looking up at his face.

"Yes." He whispers, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. I know he's not talking about his hands, and I feel a stab of guilt, cold and piercing in my stomach. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes with a shaky sigh. "I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Eren Jaegar, bastard son of Sultan Grisha Jaegar and the servant woman Carla, Crown Prince of this kingdom."

I stiffen at his formal tone, the first waves of panic beginning to lap at the shores of my mind. After the way I treated him, I wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to be cold, wanted nothing more to do with me, but if that was the case, why did I wake up tucked against him with his fingers on my skin? He's still avoiding my eyes, and I scrutinize his features, taking in the tight clench of his jaw and the movement of his throat as he swallows thickly and asks in a hesitant voice, "Are you upset with me?"

 _Oh_. My eyes flick down to his gauze-wrapped hands, and I realize that I am upset with him. I'm _very_ upset with him, but not for the reasons he's thinking of. He's oblivious to my rising distress until I surge up to kneel in front of him, grabbing his right hand by the wrist with shaking fingers and holding it in front of his startled face. "You listen to me, and you listen well," I snap. "Don't do this again. Don't you _ever_ do this again. Do you hear me?!" So much has happened today that I'm not surprised when panicked tears start gathering in the corners of my eyes and my voice starts bordering on hysterical. "Look at what you did to yourself! You big bloody idiot, _look at what you did!_ " My vision is too blurry now to be functional, but I feel his strong arms hesitantly wrap around me and pull me into his lap. I vice my legs around his waist and latch my own arms around his neck, some part of me hoping that if I hold on tightly enough, maybe I'll never have to let go of him. Even with all my pride, I know I've reached my limit. I can't bear all this panic any longer. Not by myself. "I'm sorry," I choke into his shirt, fisting my hands in the fabric, feeling the protesting ache in my broken finger. "I'm sorry, I'm _so sorry_ —"

" _Shh_ , Levi, my Levi. It's all right, you came back. You have nothing to apologize for." His voice is calm, but his arms are almost desperately locked around me, and he's shaking just as badly as I am. He only manages a few rattling breaths before he loses his last shred of composure and drops his head on my shoulder, rubbing his face against my skin. "I really thought you were gone." His voice is muffled, and I can tell he's trying not to cry. "Waking up and seeing you asleep next to me was like a dream."

"I shouldn't have left," I whisper into his shirt. "I shouldn't have said such horrible thi—"

"It's not your fault."

"But—"

"Levi, _it's not your fault_." He raises his head before unwinding his right arm and slipping it between us to gently tilt my chin up. "Look at me." I glance up to meet his eyes, and he lets out a soft huff of laughter paired with a teary smile. "Oh hell, you're even perfect when you _cry_." He runs his thumb over my cheekbone reverently, and I feel my face flush under his attention. Somewhere in my dazed mind I'm wondering how I was lucky enough to be thrown into the life of this man.  I slowly reach up to touch the thick, unruly brown hair falling past his shoulders and curling around his collarbones. He closes his eyes with a tight smile. "You weren't supposed to find out this way," he murmurs softly, "I was planning to tell you today when I came to the tower, but I—" His voice breaks off as more tears start slipping out from his closed eyes. I move my hand up to wipe them away, but he gently grabs my wrist before I get the chance, opening his eyes once more and raising my hand to his face, examining Armin's bandaging around my third and fourth fingers.

"What happened here?" He asks quietly.

"It was with the guards," I respond, just as quietly. "I— I broke one of their noses trying to get away, so another one of them pulled my finger backwards until it snapped." He examines it for a few more seconds in his gentle grip before raising it to his mouth, gazing at me affectionately from under his lashes as he softly brushes his lips over my bandaged knuckles. I watch, wide-eyed, as he releases my wrist and shifts to lay me down on the mattress underneath him before moving down to crouch by the other bandages wrapped around my chest and abdomen. He lightly traces my ribs with the long, familiar fingers of his good hand before speaking again, in the same soft murmur.

"And here? What happened here?"

"They— they kicked me," I stutter, already growing breathless under his careful ministrations, and he slowly lowers himself to hover over my stomach before pressing three soft kisses to the white bandages there. He moves back up towards my head and runs his gentle fingertips over the dark bruising around my neck.

"What about here?" His quiet voice is pulling me apart at the seams, his soft touches stitching me back together. He has my breath coming in soft gasps, and I know he's close enough to my chest to hear my wild heartbeat.

"My cloak, they pulled— they pulled on my cloak until I couldn't breathe." I watch something black and dangerous flash briefly across his face before he nuzzles his way to my throat. I can't suppress my shiver when his lips ghost over the painful marks darkening the sensitive skin, and when he stills next, he's hovering over my face, bright eyes serious and focused.

"And these?" He whispers, tracing the scratches on my cheek and forehead with a light touch.

"My face, they— they held my face down in the dirt— I— what—" My words die in my mouth as he presses gentle little kisses to every single scratch and cut, leaving a final one on my nose for good measure. He pulls back ever so slightly, and raises his fingers to trace my lips. My breath hitches in my throat, and I can't do anything but stare at him with eyes that I'm sure are comically wide at this point.

"Here?" He whispers, so softly I almost miss it, even from centimeters away. I can't find my voice, I'm too enraptured by his mouth, so close to mine but still too far away. I shake my head, and he smiles, one of the first smiles I'm able to see spread across his entire face, and I melt. I can't help it, not with the way he's drizzling this warm affection over my entire body. I'm already so soft and malleable beneath his fingers and mouth, and I can't find it in myself to be ashamed. I've forgiven him, and he's forgiven me. Even if he is the Prince, this man still wants me, still looks at me the same way, still has the same heart beating in his chest, and I still want him too, more than I've ever wanted anything in my miserable life.

"Do you still—" he murmurs hesitantly, "Can I—"

"Please," I interrupt breathlessly, desperate for his closeness, "Please please please—"

I'm cut off in the best way, with his mouth pressed tenderly against mine. It's not like yesterday, it's soft and slow, soothing and almost practiced, exactly what I need. When he pulls back, his face is flushed ever so slightly, and the color looks wonderful on him. I am once again struck by the thought that he's beautiful, with or without fabric draped across his features. He was already perfect before, but now, uncovered and laid out in front of me like a wild painting of gold and turquoise, he's breathtaking. I'm ashamed of my own appearance, half beaten to death and only recently brought back from the brink of starvation, I must be absolutely—

"Beautiful."

"What?"

"You're so beautiful." He lowers himself down again to press his lips against my cheekbone, once, twice, three times before smiling at me so adoringly it makes my chest hurt in a way that has nothing to do with my battered ribs. "You're so strong Levi, _so strong_ , so wonderful and vicious and perfect. I've been lost since the moment I found you."

"Eren—" his name still feels a little strange in my mouth, especially lacking a title, but the way he smiles even wider at the sound of it leaving my lips erases any doubts I could ever have. I don't need to use words for him to know what I want, and he slides his gentle hand into my hair before kissing me again, sweetly, languidly, perfectly, like he and I, tangled together in the blankets of his bed, are the only people in the world.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

_Nothing scares me more than how much Levi already means to me. I've only known him for a little over a week, but I completely broke down when he left. I've never experienced anything like this. I'm terrified that he could leave at any minute, and I couldn't do anything to stop him. He's fiercely independent, and I won't make him do anything he doesn't want to do, even if it hurts me in the end._

_I still can't believe he came back._

_My heart hurts just looking at him, little body curled against me once again with an arm thrown over my waist. I kissed him to sleep, and now I'm wondering if I should be worried about him. He's gone through so much today, the purple bruising of his side is spreading to peek out of the bandages that cover his torso like a shirt. Every one of his injuries was repaid tenfold to the nine guards that hurt him, but I haven't actually asked him if he's alright yet._

_God I was so scared._

_I've never felt fear like that before. I was so prepared to be irritated with the fools for messing with some poor bystander, but when I saw who it was pinned under their boots and crying with fury and terror, I felt so many things at once, I didn't know how to react. All of those men are in the infirmary now. The one who had his pants down suffered the worst of it. I kicked the life out of him, and then I stomped on his leg until I felt his femur splinter under my bare foot. I don't know if he'll live or not, but when I think of what he would've done to Levi, I can't make myself feel any sort of guilt._

_My dark thoughts vanish at the sound of my door opening, and I curl around him, minding my splinted hand as I tuck it around his back. I hear quiet footsteps come to a stop behind me, and delicate fingers flick my ear until I start to growl. "I swear to god Petra, if you wake him up, you're fired."_

_"Oh hush, little wolf," she tuts. "Show me your prize."_

_"If I move, he might wake up," I snap quietly, "Walk around to the other side of the bed." Her orange head pops into my vision as she tiptoes closer to look at him._

_"This is Levi?" She whispers, glancing up at me for confirmation._

_"This is Levi." She nods thoughtfully and perches on the side of the bed._

_"Erwin told me what happened. How is he? How are you?" She looks pointedly at my hands before looking back up at me._

_"I'm fine. My hands hurt like hell, but it's my own fault. As for him... I think he's okay. I hope he's okay, god, it's hard to tell, but I'm not leaving his side until I know for sure." I press my nose into his hair, and he makes a little rumbling noise in his throat, pushing closer to me. Petra watches the exchange with a smile before looking up at the ceiling. It's a wonderful ceiling, all gilded in gold and decorated with swirled paintings of stars and vines and colorful birds. Levi would like it. He didn't really have the chance to look at it while he was awake._

_"How did this happen so fast?" She's looking at me again, and I tighten my arm around him._

_"I don't know," I admit softly. "From day one, all I wanted was to be around him, to be able to touch him and see him smile, and when I finally understood why I wanted all those things, it just— I don't know, it felt right. It still feels right. I wouldn't trade this for the world."_

_She grins mischievously. "Is he aware of how tightly he has you wrapped around his finger, then?"_

_I grin back and shake my head slightly. "I'm not exactly trying to keep it a secret. He'll figure it out sooner or later."_

_"I'll save him the trouble and let him know for you," She laughs quietly, but sobers quickly enough to have my full attention. "Grisha's very angry with you."_

_I sigh and look away. "He knows?"_

_"Eren, you put nine of his guards in the infirmary, of course he knows." I can hear her foot rapidly tapping against the floor. She only does that when she's scared. "How badly did you hurt them?"_

_"Not badly enough." I growl, trying not to hurt Levi's ribs by gripping him too tightly._

_"I've never seen him this upset. I don't know what he's going to do to you." Her foot taps faster, and when I look at her, I'm met with worried brown eyes._

_"I'll be fine. I knew what I was getting into from the beginning. I have no idea what he's planning either, but I can handle it, even if it's violent."_

_She smiles sadly and stares at her lap for a couple of seconds before raising her head to look at me through her bangs. "Was he worth it?"_

_I close my eyes and breath in his warm, sleepy scent. "He's worth everything."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I say the same damn thing every time but EHHHHHH????  
> Woohoo the boys made it through there first storm. But *gasp*  
> WHAT WILL GRISHA DOOOO?  
> Also there is some wonderful fanart that I absolutely adore of both Rogue and Prince!Eren by my lovely friend laniellena, find it here:
> 
> http://bitchflavoredicecube.tumblr.com/post/135468202446/laniellena-this-is-something-i-did-for-the-fic
> 
> OH MY GOD FIRST FANART EVER I FREAKED OUT KINDA STILL AM
> 
> Okay cool. See y'all next week.


	10. Codependency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi gets used to both giving and receiving casual affection, and discovers the wonders of bathing like royalty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse. I couldn't write. My brain was crying I'm sorry  
> BUT IM NOT DEAD YET SO SURPRISE BITCHES  
> hahah no I am sorry I hope y'all enjoy the chapter.

I've never seen a ceiling like this before. I haven't seen very many ceilings at all, really. I only remember three specifically. There was the rotted wooden ceiling of the little room where I lived with my parents, there was the dirty stone ceiling of the bridge chamber that Isabel, Farlan and I took refuge in, and then there was the high dusty ceiling of the bell tower, but what is currently above me is vastly different from anything I've ever seen. There's gold _everywhere_ , dividing the colorful mosaics into panels and curling around the room's many pillars in elegant patterns. Each panel is unique, but as a whole the ceiling looks like one huge, coherent work of art, decorated with multitudes of jewel-bright birds flying on graceful wings in a world of stars and twisting vines. Each bird is different, and I only know this because I woke up trapped in Eren's arms, and since the giant brat hasn't moved yet, I've been analyzing the ceiling for awhile now. I'm afraid to shift around at all, because I can feel where his hands are tucked around my back, and I don't want to risk jostling them. I don't want to risk jostling myself either, since every inhale sends stabs of heavy pain shooting from my ribs to my brain. It's easy enough to ignore, however, with Eren snoring softly into my hair. The even sounds of his breathing are almost enough to lull me to sleep again. I've never felt so relaxed, despite the lovely array of damaged body parts I'm currently dealing with.

I know he's awake when he squeezes me briefly and sighs, pressing just a little bit closer. I can feel his thighs flex against mine as he stretches his legs out, and I tilt my head up to look at him, only to be met with a wide grin and shining mismatched eyes. I can't help it when I grin back, he's contagious. He shifts a little so he's angled over me, and pushes my bangs back off my forehead before dabbing his mouth against mine, too playfully for me to know how to react. I feel my face start to heat up, and he grins wider before leaning down to rub our noses together. I know I've turned scarlet from my hairline to my collarbones by now, but I have no idea what I'm doing. No one has ever touched me so casually before. No one has ever _wanted_ to, at least not like this, and now, in the face of this man smiling down at me adoringly like I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him, I'm left breathless and unsure of how I should react. He doesn't notice my hesitation, or at least he doesn't pay any mind to it. I'm steeling myself to get over this strange insecurity sooner rather than later and just _kiss him_ , but then something metallic and cold brushes across my cheek, and I jerk back, startled. He chuckles softly at the confusion on my face, reaching up to tuck his thick brown hair behind his ears, and a bark of laughter escapes my throat at my own foolishness.

I reach up and touch the long, triangular golden earrings hanging from his earlobes. He shifts closer, and I run my fingers up his ears, counting five more small golden hoops decorating the shell of each one. I settle my hands flat on either side of his face, and he closes his eyes, smiling at the touch. If simple little things like this make him happy, maybe what we are now won't be so hard to get used to. I already know I can't get enough of the attention he showers me with, I just have to get better at doing the same to him. He sighs my name quietly when I slowly stroke his face with my thumbs, and something inside me clenches painfully at the sound, making it hard to breathe all of a sudden.

Even with the tight ache in my chest, the silence is beautiful until it's broken by Eren's own ridiculousness. I don't know what causes it, but he jerks backwards so violently he falls off the bed, and I tense hard enough in response to agitate my bruises.

"Ow, ow, ow..." he mutters from the floor, "Oh, that was dumb, ow..." I try shuffling to the edge of the bed to look at him, but he jumps to his feet before I get the chance. "Levi!"

"What? What is it?" He has a huge smile on his face, and I'm still trying to calm my heart rate from the sudden explosion of movement.

"I can't believe I hadn't thought of this yet! Oh god, I have _the best_ surprise for you." He's practically vibrating with excitement, even going so far as to start fluttering his hands around before realizing it hurts to move them and calming down a little. "Levi," he asks, smiling mischievously, "Have you ever wanted to bathe like a Prince?"

  
\-------

  
There's a giant crater in the floor. A giant, steaming, water-filled crater that smells like the physical form of happiness itself.

Eren had left me confused and still tangled in the blankets as he darted out of the room for something, and he'd come back only a few minutes later with an orange-haired woman in tow. She'd tossed a happy wave in my direction as she was tugged through another set of doors across the room from me. I'd waited for a good while, still very confused, and when the doors finally opened again, the woman patted Eren fondly on the cheek and left the room. He'd walked over to the bed and kissed my hair before motioning for me to follow him, and now, here I am, staring at an oasis in the floor.

"I don't— What is this?" I'm curious and apprehensive at the same time.

"You'll love it, trust me. Take off your clothes and bandages and get in!" He winks and turns around, putting a wrapped hand over his eyes.

I quickly shed my pants and the gauze around my torso before lowering myself into the steaming water, wincing initially at the temperature, but slowly getting used to it as more of my skin is submerged. _Oh, he was right. I love this._ Waking up in a real bed wrapped around Eren was the best thing I've ever experienced, but this is most definitely a close second. Being surrounded by this much warmth feels _incredible_. There aren't enough sounds in the world to fully express the utter _perfection_ I'm experiencing. I feel like I'm going to _melt_.

"Oh _god_ , oh god, oh my god, there is no way this is real, it's too perfect there's no way..." I hear something akin to a giggle from behind me, and I turn around to see Eren, artfully laid out at the edge of the huge bath. My feet barely touch the bottom, so I have to flail around a little to make my way over to him. I latch onto his forearm, and he curls his better hand around the back of my neck, causing me to rise out of the water slightly.

"What do you think?" He asks, grinning widely.

"I think I'm never coming out," I grin back, splashing a little. "I'm going to be so clean I'll practically disappear." I regret my choice of words when his face falls slightly, and I push myself up a little higher to press my forehead against his in a silent apology.

"Please don't," he says softly.

"I'm sorry. I won't." I place a hesitant little kiss against the corner of his mouth, and his lips curve upwards slightly, but his eyes are still sad. "What is it? What's wrong?" I ask quietly, searching his bright eyes for answers.

"I have a lot on my mind." He says with a rueful smile. "For starters, you look lovely like this, and it's killing me."

I want to tease him, I really do, but I'm busy trying to fight the flush off my face. "How do you mean?"

"I want to take care of you," he admits shyly. "I want to wash your hair and skin and dry you off and bandage you back up again, but I can't. It's my fault you're all bruised up, and it's my fault that I've ruined my hands so badly that I can't get them wet and look after you properly." He looks down, shakes his head, and whispers, "I haven't even asked if you're alright yet."

I didn't realize he still felt guilty, and I'm not sure how to make him understand that he has no reason to blame himself for any of this. It's almost like he doesn't realize how much of a mess I would be in if he hadn't shown up when he did. "Oh Eren..."

"Also, I haven't known you very long, not long enough for this—" he gestures between us, "to make sense. To be this easy. I don't know why I want this so desperately, so soon." He looks down at my hands still wrapped around his forearm, and lightly traces his fingers over my bandages.

I don't know what to say. I didn't expect him to be thinking about something like that, but I don't have a response, because he's right. It _doesn't_ make sense. Two weeks ago I was sleeping in the dirt, and now I'm bathing in the palace. I was alone, and the thought of interacting with anyone sent panic and disgust whirling through my mind, but now, I have someone who wants to be close to me, and it's like I can't get enough of him. Like I've starved myself of affection for so long that my body is trying to make up for all the years it's been parched by taking in as much as it can. _I'm not alone_ , but I know that none of these feelings should be this strong, not yet. I never _wanted_ to need anyone, but somehow, without my consent, my entire being has decided that it needs Eren.

"I don't know how this is going to work," He murmurs, and I feel very cold all of a sudden, even surrounded by all this warm water. "I don't know how I'm going to keep you hidden from my parents, and I don't know what they'll do if they find out about you." He looks up at me again, eyebrows pinched with concern. "I don't know how I'll get out of an arranged marriage with another Prince or Princess if my parents try to force me into one, because I refuse to marry someone else and turn you into some sort of glorified concubine." He shakes his head fiercely. "I won't do it Levi, I _won't do it._ "

I'm paralyzed, unsure of what he's trying to say. I can't tell if he's sending me away or not, and that uncertainty is burning hot enough to make me feel frigid.

"Calm down, I haven't finished yet," He chides gently, most likely noticing how panicked I look. "I don't know how this is possibly going to work, but what I _do_ know is that I want to be with you _all the time_. I haven't stopped thinking about you since I first found you. I... I didn't think I could _ever_ be this happy. I wasn't alone, not like you were, but I was lonely. I'll do whatever it takes to stay with you, and I want to give you _everything_."

It's almost painful how quickly relief courses through my irritated nerves, and I'm not sure if I should be embarrassed or not about the strength of my solace, but I smile anyways, moving my hands to his shoulders and pulling myself closer. The bandaging around my fingers is thoroughly soaked, but I don't think he minds. "You sap. I don't think I could ever go back to the way things used to be. I never intended to be so dependent on you," I accuse, and his eyes dart around nervously in his flushed face. "It's not a bad thing," I murmur fondly, and he blinks at me once before nuzzling closer in response, kissing my nose, and getting to his feet.

"It's too much fun to kiss you," he sighs, grinning at me happily, "I just can't get enough, you're absolutely intoxicating." He winks at me and I splash in his direction, succeeding only in getting water all over the tiled floor. "Take your time getting out. I'm going to send for Armin so he can have a look at us and bandage you up again." He blows me a dramatic kiss and I fling water at him again, managing to splash the edge of his foot before he darts out of the room with a laugh.

It only takes a few minutes to dry off with the fluffy towel he left behind, but I still want revenge for all of his ridiculous teasing. I walk out of the bathroom with damp hair, stride purposefully over to the sitting area where he's talking quietly with a very familiar blond male, and shake like a dog, scattering water all over his shirt. Naturally, my plan backfires, and I don't know how I didn't see it coming. He flinches and turns around, staring at me blankly. I'm ready to say something clever when he smirks, pulls his splattered shirt off in one fluid movement, and grabs my hips to tug me into his lap. I try to fight back a wince when his fingers dig into bruises I'd forgotten about, but judging by the way he freezes and jerks his hands away, I'm assuming I was unsuccessful. I didn't bother asking for a shirt since I was going to be wrapped in fresh bandages anyways, but I'm regretting that decision now as he slides his hands around me and gently coaxes my pants down, just enough to see the dark finger-shaped bruises striped across my hipbones.

"Did this— was this when they—"

I nod quickly and rest my hands over his to keep him from saying anything else. I don't want to think about it. He presses his forehead into my shoulder and takes a shaky breath before nodding sharply in understanding. I'd forgotten about Armin, but when I glance over at him, it's easy to tell by the amusement in his calculating blue eyes that he certainly hadn't forgotten about us. He raises an eyebrow impatiently, and I gently tap on Eren's hands, silently asking him to release me. He makes a grumbling noise, but unwraps his arms from around my waist anyways, and I stand up, trying not to fidget as Armin circles around me with his hands clasped behind his back. He has me lift my arms up to better examine the black smattering of bruises across my side, and I tense as he runs his fingers along my ribs.

I don't like it.

His hands are small and cold, and I want them off me.  I know I'm being ridiculous, he's trying to _help_ me for god's sake, but I still grit my teeth as his thin fingers run over my skin. Eren notices of course, and wordlessly rises to his feet, but I wave my hand to keep him away. I can do this _. I can do this._ It's just Armin, and he's not going to hurt me. He's wrapping gauze around my ribs now, using more of it than before to fully cover the spreading bruises.  "How are you feeling, Levi?" He questions conversationally, "I know this just happened this morning, but does anything hurt worse?" He re-bandages my fingers with quick, practiced efficiency before stepping away, eyes still trained on me and waiting for an answer.

"Nothing's worse, but everything still hurts," I answer honestly. Eren moves behind me to rest his chin on top of my head and run his hands down my arms soothingly, and I lean back into him, but only slightly, to preserve my dignity of course. Armin is still watching us curiously, but after a few seconds he shakes his head and looks away with a small smile on his face.

"Eren, it's too soon to take your bandages off, I don't want to upset the stitches, but if you send for me tomorrow, I'll take a look at them then, since I'm staying in the palace to keep an eye on you two anyways." He packs his bag and stands up, bowing sightly before heading through the door with a wave.

I turn a little in Eren's hold, noticing with some dismay that he's put his shirt back on. "He's your friend, right?" Eren nods slowly, puzzled at the question. "Why did he bow to you?"

"Oh, that?" He laughs, "I've told him not to, and he never does it outside the wall. I think being in the palace makes him nervous." I hum and turn around fully, lightly grabbing his hands and looking up at him.

"How much do they hurt? Honestly?" He sobers and looks away.

"Well... honestly, they only hurt when I move them, but even the smallest movements are a little... uncomfortable." His fingers twitch slightly, and I can feel his tendons moving through the layers of bandage. "I can't grip anything with my left hand because of how Armin splinted my fingers, but my right hand probably shouldn't be doing any heavy lifting either..."

I stare at him, willing him to look at me. When he finally meets my eyes, I raise his hands and brush my lips over his bandaged knuckles. He steps closer and rubs his face against my hair with a shaky exhale, and I can't help but think that I'm already getting better at being affectionate. We stay like that until three sharp raps break the silence and the small woman from before enters the room, pushing a cart in front of her.

"Hello boys," she says with a smile, "I thought you might be hungry after staying in bed for half the day, working up an appetite and whatnot." She winks and pushes the cart against a wall before walking over to where we're standing, placing her hands on her hips, and smirking. "My _my_ your highness, what have you been up to?"

I look up to watch Eren's face turn bright red, and he stutters, "We didn't— I wouldn't— I'm not—"

"Calm down, little wolf," She laughs, standing on her tiptoes to flick his forehead. He glances down at me nervously, and I raise an eyebrow in silent question. _Little wolf?_ He shakes his head slightly with a pained expression, which I take to mean that he'll tell me later. The woman watches the exchange with a growing smile before wiggling her eyebrows at Eren.

"Petra—" He whines, and I smirk at the reedy tone of the pouting Prince's voice.

"There's food for you both," she laughs, "where do you want to eat?"

He visibly brightens at her question before replying, "On the balcony, please."

"Sounds perfect." She grabs the cart and wheels it towards the doors that lead to the bathroom, but freezes suddenly like she's been stabbed. "Eren?" She asks, sounding grim, the complete opposite of her tone a few seconds ago. The change in her voice causes Eren to jerk his head up and look at her stiff-backed form with his eyebrows pinched together in worry. "Erwin wants a word with you. He's in his quarters."

When I turn around, Eren looks like he's going to be sick, and I have no idea why. He squeezes my good hand briefly before schooling his face into an impassive mask and stalking out through the huge doors. I stare after him, starting to feel a bit sick myself, flinching when I feel a light touch on my shoulder. "I'm Petra, you must be Levi." I nod, still staring at the door and trying to swallow the thick lump of anxiety in my throat. "He'll be all right," she murmurs, squeezing my shoulder gently. "He's strong. No matter what happens, he'll be fine."

I shake my head slightly, attempting to rid myself of the dark thoughts crowding my mind. "Erwin said he couldn't help him this time." I turn to face Petra, and she's pressed her mouth into a thin line, looking significantly less optimistic than before.

"Follow me Levi, let's go to the balcony." She grabs the cart and strides towards the doors that lead to the bath without another word. I'm shaking I think, or at least I feel like I'm shaking, but there's so much noise in my head I can't be sure. My broken finger throbs in time with my rapid heartbeat, and I cradle it to my chest, trying to focus on something insignificant like the patterns of the shining tile to will the panic away. I have no reason to be so distressed. I'm better than this, _stronger_ than this, but the memory of his face dropping into dread has me rattled to the core. I don't know how long I stand frozen in the middle of the room before there are familiar arms snaking around me and easing my fingernails away from where they'd buried themselves in my skin. I've carved an arc of bloody crescents in each of my pale forearms, but I can't feel them. The only thing I feel is his warm hand urging me forward by the small of my back, and I'm led past the bath and out the glass doors that I'd mistaken for a large window earlier. Petra has laid out two cushions and an array of different foods I've never seen before, and she shoots a worried glance at Eren as she exits the balcony. I'm so twisted up I can't even appreciate the view, and when we sit down to start eating, I can't taste what I'm sure is the most wonderful food I've ever put in my mouth. I feel like I'm chewing on candles, and when I finish all that I can stomach, I look at Eren for the first time since he came back from seeing Erwin, and the knots in my stomach only grow tighter. He looks as tense as I feel, and I can tell by his posture that he's deliberately avoiding conversation. He continues eating with his shoulders hunched and his back stiff until he notices I'm still staring at him and finally looks up.

He's afraid. Whatever Erwin said to him has sent visible bolts of fear through his mismatched eyes, and I can't breathe at all, not when he looks so scared. He lets out a sigh that I can almost _feel_ the shakiness of and sits back. "I— Would you— Come over here?" I wordlessly crawl over to his cushion, and he pulls me into his lap. I press myself against him just enough to feel his frantic heartbeat.

"What are you scared of?" I murmur against his neck.

He laughs unsteadily. "Is it that obvious?" I nod, knowing he'll be able to feel it. "I'll tell you, I promise, but for now, can I... can I just hold you for a little while?" I nod again, closing my eyes against the harsh rays of the setting sun. I don't have the heart to appreciate it, not right now. His whole body is trembling, from his bandaged hands to his uneven exhales, but I can't join him. I can't let myself be unsettled by whatever has him so shaken. I have to be strong while he can't. He's done it for me _so_ many times, it's my turn to do the same for him. I shift away and stand up, ignoring the spiking pain in my ribs. He looks even more terrified when I leave his lap, and it's not until I offer my hand to him that he regains some control of himself and stands up with me.

I pull him along back to his bed, willing him to keep his eyes on me even as we hit the mattress. He curls up tightly against me, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, hoping to stop the terrible shudders wracking his body. His fingers are cold against my chest, and I think it's the first time I've ever been warmer than him. I don't want to push, I don't want to interfere with whatever he's battling in his mind, but he's worrying me. There isn't anything I can think of that would frighten him like this, but if it will help, I can be patient. I'll be here for him to hold onto until his broken hands give out, and I'll force my own uneasiness deep down inside my stomach until this storm passes.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, and moves up to press his face closer to mine, eyes still closed. "You're right," he whispers, "I'm terrified." I don't say anything, and he speaks again in a surprisingly steady voice. "My father has decided how I'm to be punished for my actions."

I'd completely forgotten. Of course there would be repercussions for what he did.

It's my fault. I couldn't save myself. I can't believe I'd managed to forget something of this magnitude, something that is going to cause him pain, something that happened _because of me_. I feel like I've been plunged into cold water, the frigid numbness of this morning coming back to me in one sharp stab. I feel like I've detached myself from everything, and when I speak, it doesn't seem like my mouth is moving at all, and I don't recognize my own voice.

"What is he going to do?"

Eren tightens his fingers in the white gauze of my bandages, and there's no way it doesn't hurt him with the state his hands are in. "They're going to scourge me, Levi. Tomorrow morning, they're going to scourge me."

  
\------------------------------------------

  
_Erwin is going to do it himself. Not by choice of course, Grisha commanded it. I think he was trying to do me a kindness, knowing that Erwin is the only one I'd be able to forgive._

_I didn't want to tell Levi. I knew he'd only worry, but I promised I'd never lie to him, so I told him everything. It's strange, having someone I can break in front of. This morning was the first time anyone other than my reflection had ever seen me so out of control, because I know that if I'm going to be a successful Sultan, people need to view me as an adult. I have to appear confident and put together. I can't afford to lose my composure, because people will doubt me, doubt my ability to handle the kingdom at such a young age, and all this work I've done will have been for nothing._

_Levi knows better than I do how hard it is to be alone when you're scared. I was surprised at first, how easily he pulled me away from the dark tempest of panic storming through my mind. I'd been doing well enough holding myself together until I looked at him, but he saw right through me, and I knew there was no point in pretending I was alright. He'd been quiet, but his presence was loud, like music drowning out the roar of a hurricane. I held on to him so tightly it hurt, but he stayed next to me, unbending and unbroken. I couldn't help but feel like I'd failed him at first, like I had to stay strong but I just couldn't manage it, like I had no right to fall apart after what he'd gone through earlier this morning, but he wasn't having it. He knew what I was thinking— looking back, I realize he knew because he thinks the same way in situations like this— and he only pressed closer, filling my ears with murmured affection after getting over the shock of what I told him._

_I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight. Levi was lost to the world hours ago, and he hasn't moved his lips from my temple or his arms from where they're viced around my shoulders. If I had the heart to move I'm sure I'd see exhaustion lingering in the sleepy lines of his beautiful face. I don't know what I did to deserve someone so wonderful, but I know I'll do whatever it takes to keep him._

_I'm sure it's well past midnight now, and I'm worried about so many different things. I don't want Levi to watch what's going to happen to me, but I won't be there to cover his eyes._

_And I'm terribly afraid of whips._

_There are still scars on my back, raised and pale from the first and only time I'd raised a hand against my stepmother._

_I hadn't meant to do it. I was fourteen years old, and not in the right temper to listen to her rant about how disgusting and filthy my birthmother was. Erwin still grumbles about thirty lashes being far too much for a boy to endure, but Grisha achieved his results, as he always does when he wants to fix something. I never again treated my stepmother with anything worse than indifference._

_Grisha is a terrible Sultan, because he's intelligent enough to do anything he sets his mind to, but he's lost any drive to do more than sit on his throne and pretend to rule. It's why I can't show any fear when they tie my wrists to the post in a few hours. I need to be strong. I need to keep the respect of the kingsguard, and I need everyone that bows to the Sultan to think of me as unbreakable. Anything that alienates Grisha from his advisors and staff can only help my cause._

_But I'm still terrified of whips._

_I was on my stomach for three days with Petra tending to my ropy bruises and bleeding scrapes. I should've known Grisha would find some way to make it worse._

_When I walked into Erwin's quarters earlier and he'd said I'd been sentenced to twenty lashes, I was relieved and confused. I'd received thirty for slapping my stepmother, but this time I was being punished for taking out eight guards and almost killing another. Erwin's face was entirely blank as he told me that I wasn't being flogged in the traditional sense, that I was going to be scourged. Any relief I was feeling drained out of me faster than I could comprehend, and I tried not to skitter backwards when he showed me the whip he'd been given. It was nearly identical to any other whip, but adorned at the tip with three cruel silver barbs. I would rather endure fifty normal lashes than even ten with that horrible thing._

_I don't know why he would sentence me to this, why he wants so badly to see me hurt. I can't even imagine how long it will take to recover from twenty bloody lacerations. My broken hand could be fully healed by the time the scabs disappear. I don't know what I'm going to do about Levi either. I'm almost positive that by the time all this is over I'll be unconscious, and I don't know where that leaves him. If something happens while I'm unable to keep him safe, I'll go absolutely insane. I know he's perfectly capable of protecting himself, but the thought of anything threatening him fills me to the brim with boiling ire._

_Levi shifts in his sleep, rolling over and pressing his back against me, yanking me out of my distress. Even in his sleep, he still manages to keep me safe from myself. I throw a leg over his thighs, pulling him as close as I can manage and breathing him in. I'm not sleeping tonight, and that's fine, because I can stay here, warm and content and blissfully not alone until I'm dragged to the courtyard at the first sign of the sun to face my punishment._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I can't help it I really love suspense  
> This isn't as bad as the first time though so there's that  
> I love you all for reading, thank you for your continued support its what keeps me motivated XD
> 
> Find me on tumblr @bitchflavoredicecube  
> I love talking to people, I also love seeing comments so  
> Yknow  
> Gimme some sugar  
> Aright see you all next time be safe have fun kiss dogs live ya lives byeeee


	11. Scourged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Eren and Levi have both been dreading finally comes to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLOOO  
> This should have taken way less time than it did and for that I am sorry 
> 
> But this should be pretty much the end of the super angst trip for awhile
> 
> Trigger warning: okay for those of you that don't know what scourging is, it's like flogging on steroids, so this gets violent. This is like the main reason for the archive warnings, so proceed with caution. 
> 
> Okay I love you all, see you on the other side.

_Levi._

It's very dark. Too dark to be awake. My eyes itch, and my mouth feels sticky.

_Levi._

I don't want to move. It's warm here, and I have to stay with—

With Eren.

I sit straight up and almost knock my forehead against his. It's very dark, and I have no idea what time it is, but the sun hasn't risen yet. Eren and Petra are standing by the bed, and I realize that he's been saying my name, trying to wake me up. I take in his appearance, staring for a few seconds before remembering everything at once. He's dressed in a pair of loose, black pants, and his dangling triangular earrings are gone, leaving only the golden hoops behind. He's pulled all his long hair into one thick ponytail at the back of his head, and he isn't wearing a shirt.

He's dressed to be scourged, and still managing to grace me with a weak smile from his place at the side of the bed. "What's going on?" I ask, voice rasping on the remnants of sleep stuck in my throat. I shift so I'm facing him and he steps closer to me, folding his hands over mine.

"They're going to come and fetch me soon. Petra is going to take you and hide somewhere where you'll be safe from the guards and other prying eyes." I'm shaking my head before he even finishes speaking.

"No. I'm not going anywhere, I'm staying here until they take you." He steps closer still, moving his hands to my shoulders and frowning slightly.

"You _can't_. They'll tell Grisha, and I don't even want to imagine what he'd do if he found out about you. _Please_ Levi, please listen to me. Just go with Petra and I'll be back soon, I promise." I'm slightly taken aback at how desperately he's pleading, but it still wouldn't be right of me to leave him to face this alone.

"It's my fault you're even in this mess," I declare, standing up and forcing him backwards. "I'm staying." His face hardens slightly, and in one assertive stride, he's directly in front of me again, gathering me up in his bare arms. I'm too stunned to protest as he kisses me softly, far too softly to suit the distress written all over his face. When he pulls away slightly, still holding on to me, he opens his mouth to speak, but his words are cut off by a sharp knocking on the door.

"They're early," he says grimly, tightening his arms around me briefly. "Now, Petra!" he barks sharply over my head before looking back at me. " _Please_ Levi, I don't want you to see this. Stay with Petra, and stay out of sight until I come back." He presses a chaste kiss to my forehead before pushing me backwards gently, right into Petra, who grabs my wrists and starts tugging me towards the other room.

He looks dangerous and terrified all at once, burning eyes fixed on the source of the knocking. "Eren—"

"Go, Levi," he commands softly, not looking away from his bedroom doors. "Go on, go!" I can barely move my feet underneath me as I'm dragged backwards into the other room, feeling cold and very, very hopeless. I regain control of myself when the doors slam in front of me, cutting me off from him. Petra is gripping my wrists with trembling fingers, but when I yank against her hold, it doesn't break. It doesn't break the second time I fight it, and it doesn't break the third, fourth, or fifth time either. I can hear him struggling, breaths hitching sharply in his throat, and my escape attempts grow even more desperate. He sounds hysterical, and I can't do anything to help him, not when I'm being held back by this impossibly strong woman's hands around my wrists. Eventually, I step on my own foot and fall to the ground in a heap, dazed and wondering why he isn't gone yet, why I can still hear his panicked, shuddering cries. It's not until I look up at Petra's sympathetic face that I understand Eren has been gone for awhile now, that he'd left silently, and that those horrible noises were coming from me.

 _I'm fine, I'm fine, it's okay, he's coming back, I'm fine_. When I manage to get ahold of myself, Petra releases my wrists, and I scrub my hands down my face viciously. I'm not surprised when they come away wet. I get to my feet and fight the last remaining shards of panic out of my head, leaving it clear, reflective, and entirely unfeeling. "Where did they take him, Petra?" My voice is flatter and more lifeless than I've ever heard it, but I wouldn't be able to do what I'm about to do in any other state of mind.

She starts shaking her head, moving to block my path to the door, but I'm faster and closer, and I slip into the main room before she can catch me. "Stop! Levi, if you get caught, he'll be in even worse trouble!"

Those were the perfect words to stop me dead in my tracks, hand raised to pull the other doors open and dart into the hallway. I know what's in my head, but it must be different from what's plastered on my face, because her expression softens and she walks past me, tugging me through the doorway. "He said to stay out of sight and stick together, so technically we're still doing what he's asked, but I don't understand why you want to watch this—"

"It's my fault," I interrupt, following behind her closely enough to blend our shadows together, "I'm the reason he's being punished, and he's scared. It's the least I can do to make sure he's not alone." She doesn't respond, only continues to tug me around corners and through narrow hallways until we reach a staircase spiraling up one of the turrets. We pass three small windows before arriving at a fourth one, much larger than its predecessors.

I thought I was prepared, I thought I was in an empty and stable enough mental state to be able to look at the scene before me and be alright, but nothing could've prepared me for this. The window looks out on a courtyard full of strange equipment— an obstacle course of sorts— with a tall post at one side, and that's where Eren is, facing us and bound by his bandaged wrists to a metal ring fixed into the wood. This window is close enough to him for me to watch the muscles of his jaw flex as his teeth clench tighter around the leather strap in his mouth. I notice the blood next, and I'm suddenly very glad that his back is hidden from us.

It's everywhere, splattered against the white of his bandages, matted into his dark hair, running down his tanned skin, soaking the waistband of his pants, and in some places, dripping down to stain the sand around his feet. Distantly, I feel myself stagger backwards because there's _so much_ , too much for a whip to have caused, but my fingers locked around the curve of the windowsill and Petra's hand on my shoulder keep me from moving too far. _He was right, I should've stayed away, I should've waited, this is terrible, why would anyone want to do this to him?_ My eyes immediately fall on a familiar figure draped in the purple and white of the Sultan's court, sitting calmly in a golden litter and observing the whole ordeal from behind thin, round spectacles.

His majesty, Sultan Grisha Jaegar. Watching his own son get torn to shreds like its a regular occurrence. Any hysteria in my mind drains away, replaced by blistering fury in one powerful surge. My entire body burns for his demise. This whole thing started with _his_ guards, and Eren's sentence was _his_ decision. _He's_ the one who deserves to be scourged. If I had the chance, I would forgo the whip entirely in favor of tearing him apart with my own teeth and nails. Nothing would give me greater pleasure, really, but as Erwin pulls back the whip and brings it down in one powerful, accurate stroke and Eren's whole body tenses in agony, I forget everything in my mind, and all of this fury licking its way through my veins leaves as quickly as it came. I'm cold again, dry and glacial as a desert storm, and all I can do is watch, paralyzed, as the whip strikes and the horrible crack of leather against skin echoes loudly around the entire courtyard, tearing it's way through my ears and stabbing me in the chest. Erwin steps back, setting his weapon down and stretching his arms out I front of him. I'm hoping, _praying_ that it's over, but they don't untie him, and Petra murmurs incredulously, " _That's_ ten? That's _only_ ten? Oh Eren, my poor little wolf..."

When Erwin picks up the whip again, something glints in the scorching sunlight, and I understand why there's _so much blood_. I know what scourging is, but I've never seen a weapon as cruel as this one used to do it. The whip is one smooth rope until the very end, where it splits into three sections, each tipped with a wicked silver claw, fashioned after that of a lion or some other terrible predator. Erwin is very accurate and entirely merciless; he doesn't seem to be holding back at all, and I'm assuming that with each stroke of the whip, the claws catch in the skin of Eren's back, tearing the flesh on their way out. It's very simple to understand that twenty lashes with this horrible instrument easily turns into sixty. He's been unbreakable from what I've seen, forehead pressed against his forearms, barely shaking, jaw clenched, eyes open and staring at the ground, but on the eleventh lash, his exterior cracks, just slightly. His mouth drops open in a silent gasp, and the leather strap falls out of his mouth, landing in the bloody sand at his feet. I feel like I've been stabbed in the stomach, watching him falter like that. He won't be able to take nine more lashes without shattering in front of this savage audience. I don't know when it happened or who initiated it, but my hand is linked tightly with Petra's, and she's turned her face away, looking anywhere but out the window. It helps, being anchored to something amidst all this chaos, but it doesn't do anything to stop me from being sick and horrified at the sight of this barbaric torture.

The twelfth lash has him panting, squeezing his eyes shut tight before opening them again.

The thirteenth has him shuddering, burying his face in his forearms as his shoulders quake violently.

At this point my fingers are clamped around the windowsill with enough force to make them whiter than they already are. He's going to break, and I can't bear to watch it happen, but just as I'm about to turn and beg Petra to take me anywhere but here, his gaze snaps up to land directly on me. His eyes have a glassy, delirious tint to them, and it makes his face look crazed, like a caged animal that's been poked one too many times, but I know through the heat and haze of his scrambled mental state, he recognizes me. His shoulders are heaving from the force of his panting, but his shaking has ceased, and he's not looking away. His body lurches forward from the intensity of the fourteenth lash, and as the whip curls away from where it was laid into his flesh, thick drops of his own hot blood splatter onto the side of his face, streaking down his cheek like horrible gory tears. He doesn't even blink, just keeps staring at me like his life depends on it.

I want to look away, look anywhere but straight into his strange glassy stare, but my feet are rooted to the spot and my eyes are fixed to his. Turning away now would be nothing but betrayal. The fifteenth lash grants him some of his fire back, and he trembles only slightly as the claws slide out of his ruined skin. He's not using his own strength to hold his head up anymore, it's simply resting on his arms, right temple lolling against the post.

The sixteenth gives him more fire still, steadying his legs underneath him and burning away some of the glaze in his wild stare. I can feel tears silently sliding down my face, but I understand what's happening now, and I won't look away. If focusing on me gives him the strength and willpower to stay unbroken, I'll stand here until this whole monstrous ordeal is over.

The seventeenth makes such a horrible crack that I flinch and stagger slightly, and my shoulders start shaking as all this moisture leaking out of my eyes makes it harder and harder to see. I can stay silent, but I can't stay still, not when I'm watching him be tortured like this.

I flinch at the eighteenth too, clenching my jaw to keep any noise locked in the back of my throat. When my eyes clear enough to see him again, his stare is as murderous as it was when we first arrived at the window. He's unbreakable once more, hardened and fiery and strong as I'm shaking and on the verge of panic. It's almost as if with each strike of the whip, he gives me his fear and takes away my strength. He can have it all, I give it willingly, but I loathe feeling so unstable and afraid, especially when I'm trying so hard to be the opposite.

The nineteenth is the worst so far, the most vicious and terrible, and it feels like the peak of it all, the climax of this whole ordeal. He wavers slightly, jaws snapping shut around the empty space where the leather was before it dropped, and I can almost hear the sharp exhale he forces through his nose, but his eyes still blaze hotter than ever, and he doesn't look crazed anymore, he looks terrifying. He looks like he would snatch away the whip and turn it on everyone in the room if his wrists weren't bound, screaming rage the entire time. They should all be afraid of him, thanking the stars that his hands are tied, because even if his gaze is no longer delirious, that doesn't mean he's in his right mind.

The twentieth and final lash is anticlimactic. The pure anticipation of it all being over makes this fall of the whip seem slow and silent, and he closes his eyes in relief right before the claws tear into his back for the last time. He jolts at the impact, but when he opens his eyes again, he looks back up at me, fiercely triumphant before they roll back in his head and he sags against the wood, legs dead and useless underneath him. I lurch backwards so violently at the sight that I fall over, landing hard on my tailbone. _Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh no, no, no, I'm going to be sick_ — Petra's small shaky hands tugging me to my feet and away from the window are the only things that jerk me out of my head and give me some semblance of control over myself. I can't feel my feet as they stumble forward after her, down the stairs and through the maze of corridors that I know will eventually lead back to Eren's room. She's much more composed than I am right now. I still think I might be sick all over the floor, but I can't focus on something as trivial as that, not when Eren is half dead somewhere in this palace. I stagger after Petra, through the huge doors and into the familiar room before collapsing into one of the chairs against the wall. Petra leaves as quickly as she enters and I'm alone once again, wondering where Eren is and how he's possibly going to recover from this.

My stomach lurches with poisonous anticipation when the door creaks open again, but it's only Armin, who strides through the doors and into the bathroom, closely followed by Petra, who is armed with more medical supplies than I've ever seen. I drop my head into my hands, resigning myself to uselessly waiting and literally worrying myself sick.

After what seems like hours but has really only been minutes, the door is kicked open, and Erwin walks in, covered in the blood that's dripping from the limp form draped over his shoulder. He locks his eyes on mine as he walks by, but I don't look away. Even if it wasn't his order that tore Eren to shreds, it was his hand that held the whip, and now he has the nerve to stare at me like he's done nothing wrong, like he has no regrets, even with the bloody prince slung over his shoulder. Watching him walk away with a guiltless conscience makes it clear to me that he _doesn't_ regret his actions, that he sees them as necessary and helpful in Eren's rise to power. From his standpoint, he hasn't done anything wrong, he's only ensured Eren's ascension and further alienated the kingdom from Grisha. I understand now why Erwin is so formidable. He will do anything to achieve his goals, even if it means beating his own comrades bloody for the world to see.

When I'm able to control my legs again, I enter the bathroom, trying to appear more put together than I look.

This is infinitely worse than what he did to his hands.

I've never seen so much _red_. I can hardly tell where the claws tore into him, because the bloodstained skin of his back and the wet, striated muscles laid open to the air are the same sickening shade of bright crimson. He's still unconscious, as far as I can tell, and I'm glad for it, because I can't even imagine the agony he'd be suffering if he was awake right now. Armin hasn't touched his bag yet, he's just staring at Eren's wrecked flesh, as if he isn't quite sure where to start. "Stop the bleeding," he mumbles, "Stop the bleeding, apply pressure and stop the bleeding." He nods to himself before taking a white towel from the stack against the wall and dabbing gingerly at the blood still spilling over from Eren's back. I'm so far past being sick, so far past being horrified and scared. I feel hollow, empty like a melon rind with all the flesh scraped out, and so cold. I haven't been this cold in a long time, not with how much clothing I wear and how hot the sun is over the kingdom. I wonder if this is what happens when you feel too much. Every emotion leeches the warmth from your body like a parasite, leaving a frigid, barren wasteland incapable of supporting anything more in its place. I've passed my threshold, and with every clack of my own teeth chattering together, I'm only reminded of how much this is going to hurt when the numbness wears off. I have no right to feel like this, not when any discomfort I might endure pales in comparison to the unbearable agony Eren must be suffering.

Armin is on his fourth towel now, the first three stained with the rusty brown of drying blood and littering the floor behind him. He doesn't use this one to dab, but to press, soaking up all the thick red liquid still oozing from Eren's wounds. I shuffle stupidly towards the gathering of people on the floor to sit down by Eren's side before looking over at Petra, who is currently trying to comb dried chunks of gore out of his matted hair. She's been crying, and she's refusing to look at Erwin, who's standing some distance away by the glass doors that lead to the balcony. I don't want to look at him either. I've seen enough of the Commander to last a lifetime. My head hurts, my heart hurts, and I want this all to be over, but if the scarlet, ribboned flesh of Eren's back is anything to go by, it's going to be awhile.

Armin makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and sets the towel down next to his legs, rubbing his palms forcefully down his face. "There's too much. I can't see anything, it's not clean enough." He mumbles incoherently into hands for a few seconds before snapping his head up and pushing his yellow hair behind his ears. "Okay," he says, calm all of a sudden, "Okay, we need to move him into the bath. The water will clean everything out better than I'll be able to by hand, and it might take some of the blood off his skin so I can finally see what I'm dealing with." The commanding air he's taken up fits him strangely, like he's forcefully overriding meekness, but it's clear to anyone who would bother to look that he knows what he's talking about, that he's intelligent, and that he's not making requests, he's making demands. "Levi, I don't suppose you'd mind going in the water with him?"

"What?" As much as I hate to acknowledge my own pathetic height, I really don't think I'm tall enough to keep my own head above the water, much less his.

"It's shallower this time," Petra says quietly, eyes trained on the floor. "You should be fine. I'll redo your bandages when you get out." I'm not sure how she knew what I was thinking, but I unwind the bandages from around my torso before lowering myself into the water anyways, noting that it's considerably less warm than last time. My feet are flat against the shiny floor of the bath, and I'm only submerged up to my shoulders. Erwin moves across the room to stand silently next to Armin, and I force myself to look at Eren's face for the first time since he lost consciousness.

He looks so _tired_ , like he's aged ten years in the span of a few hours, but it's better than I expected. He doesn't appear to be feeling much pain, and the sight of his exhausted yet mostly peaceful features is a relief to observe.

I only wish it would have lasted longer.

Erwin and Armin work together to get him in the water, and they lower him down so his arms are draped over my shoulders. I lightly settle my hands on his hips, trying to avoid making contact with any of the deep lacerations streaked across his back. It only takes a few seconds before he jerks back into awareness with a strangled gasp, lurching forwards violently and almost knocking me off balance. His chin digs into my shoulder as his mouth locks open in a silent cry, and I can feel the chaotic beating of his heart as his chest heaves against mine. Just when I'm thinking he might be in some kind of control of himself, he screams, piercing and broken, the sound bouncing eerily off the walls and ceiling before breaking into uncontrollable sobs. I try to stay still, to keep _him_ still, but it's getting more and more difficult as he thrashes desperately in my grip. He scrabbles for purchase on the unguarded skin of my back, attempting to arch and writhe and twist his way out of the water, raking his fingernails across my flesh deeply enough to draw blood. It stings, but it doesn't hurt me nearly as much as the noises ripping their way out of his throat do. He forces his face into my shoulder, still making horrible tortured sounds, and I have to consciously keep my arms from folding around him, from pulling him closer and making him feel safe like he's done for me so many times. I wish he was still unconscious, guarded from this pain by the soporific bliss of sleep. I drop my forehead on his shoulder and try to will the stinging in my back to go away, but he only tenses and sinks his nails in deeper.

"L-levi..." He whimpers, and I jerk my head back up to look at him, only to find that he's still pressing his face against my skin. I'm surprised that he's lucid enough to recognize _anyone_ , let alone me. I want to speak, to tell him that everything's going to be okay, that he's safe now, but the words are stuck in my throat, and all I can do is stare down at his wet brown hair sticking to my skin. He grips me tighter, his whole body tensing with the terrible sensations rushing through his back, and I slowly bring one of my hands up to thread through the thick brown tangles at the back of his head. "It-t won't sto-p b-bur-rning–" he gasps, chest heaving with effort, and I clench my teeth to keep from joining him with my own broken noises.

This happened because of me.

He's in _pain_ because of me. Because I couldn't defend myself. Because I couldn't fight.

I _will_ become stronger, and this will _never_ happen again.

  
\----------------------------------------

  
_I wanted more time to say goodbye to Levi before they took me away, but I couldn't make myself wake him up when he looked so perfect. He'd shifted in his sleep to end up with his back pressed against my chest, and I'd laid there, breathing in his scent and memorizing the feel of his skin until Petra shook me out of my blissful reverie, reminding me of what was to come. His face when she was pulling him away from me— he'd looked like I'd slapped him, but I forced myself to turn away until I heard the doors close, cutting him off from me._

 _I hadn't expected to see him again, hadn't_ wanted _to see him again until this was finished, but when I felt those brutal claws sink into my back for the first time, I'd hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't listen to my warnings, that he'd come and find me. I knew it was selfish, but the sensation of my skin literally being ripped apart addled my mind far too much for me to care. Everything was so hot. My eyes were burning, what was left of my skin was burning, even the blood running down my body to the sand beneath my feet felt like it was carving rivulets of flame into my very being. I will never forget the way that those brutal silver barbs laid fire into my skin before tearing through it like it was paper. I heard the whistle of the leather cutting through the air before it buried itself deep into my flesh, and it had taken every single ounce of control I possessed to not flinch away._

 _I wasn't going to make it. The third lash already had me fighting back screams and digging my teeth into the bitter chewy texture of the leather forcefully enough to break my jaw. I'd been losing myself, poised on the edge of breaking and ruining everything, but then I was graced. I don't know if it was really him or if his rigid, slender form was a product of my delirious mind, but I couldn't bring myself to pay any real attention to the details. He was here, and I was invincible. I could endure this for him. I could endure_ anything _for him. I could stand under this weapon for a thousand lashes without even blinking if he was with me, standing straight and armed with his unyielding silver stare, beautiful and fierce and stronger than I'll ever be._

_I knew I was going to lose consciousness after those claws tore into me for the last time, but I didn't expect to be awoken by more flames. I don't know where I am, I don't know which way is up, but I know that somehow, I'm clinging to Levi, and if Levi's here, everything could be so much worse. I try speaking to him, but the noise in my head is too overpowering, and I can't hear my own voice. My chest hurts, my throat feels like it's being torn out of my neck, and the entire area where I remember my back being is in tatters, shredded so badly that my brain doesn't even recognize it, but I can feel Levi's skin against my face, feel his small hands on my hip and in my hair, and if I focus on him, everything else will fade away. His presence seems more solid than ever before, like an island of perfection nestled in the eye of a dusty Arabian storm, and all I can do is cling to him and pray that I'll be taken out of this fire soon. Everything feels so unstable in the hazy, watery light of my distorted surroundings, all I can see is the comforting creamy color of Levi's skin. I want to talk to him, to tell him he'd been with me through the whole thing, that he'd kept me strong, but I can't feel anything besides the blistering agony of my back and the distracting gentleness of Levi's hands. One particularly potent lick of flame scorches its way up my spine, and even through this crippling dizziness, I feel myself spasm violently, stirring the colors around me into a different fuzzy mixture. What doesn't make sense is the very small, very quiet cry that undoubtably came from Levi. It silences the noise washing through my senses and brings everything to a standstill, that singular sound of distress repeated and amplified until it clears away the fog in my vision. I'm in the bath, draped over Levi's shoulders and surrounded by lukewarm water. My eyes flick around quickly enough to make me start feeling a little dizzy again, searching for what could have possibly caused Levi any sort of pain. When I look down at my own hands, I see too much at once._

_Frightening multitudes of angry red scratches decorate the pale, otherwise unmarred skin of his back. Thin trails of blood drip from the fresh gashes, turning pink as they diffuse into the cloudy water. The part that sickens me the most, however, is the wrinkled bits of bloody skin wedged under my fingernails, skin that doesn't belong to me. I'm pulled into hysterics too quickly for me to have a chance to stop it, and I thrash hard enough to break his hold before staggering away from him, the ribboned skin of my back momentarily forgotten. "Eren—" he cautions, taking half a step towards me, but I'm feverishly shaking my head before he even finishes the word. I don't know what to do. I know that the sight of his skin torn up by my own hands is permanently burned into my memory, and I want to tell him how horrified I am with myself for doing that to him, but I can't find my voice. My breath is coming too fast, my lungs can't handle the strain and its only getting worse. He takes another step towards me, and all I know is that I have to keep myself away from him. I'm unstable and panicked and I don't want to hurt him again, so I frantically stumble backwards, and the last thing I see before a blunt, stabbing pain pierces through my head and splits my mind in half is his lips forming my name._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY  
> IM WORKING ON THE NEXT CHAPTER  
> THE HEAVY ANGST IS TAKING A BREAK AND NOW THERES ONLY LIGHT BITS OF FLUFFY STUFF FOR AWHILE
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support, and as usual, gimme some sugar -3-
> 
> ALSO.  
> I wrote a one shot, not related to this, just something that kind of happened out of my brain, so the link for that is here:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/5523842


	12. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi hates watching Eren suffer, and Eren wonders if he's really worth all the trouble Levi keeps having to endure just to be with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola. School is hard.  
> ANYWAYS  
> For those of you who have talked to me on tumblr: I love you. I love you all so much.  
> For the rest of you, thank you for reading and sticking with me through the irregular updates and the angst-fest that this has turned into, hahahaha fuck.  
> Cool. Enjoy.

I watch, helpless and horrified as Eren cracks his head against the hard edge of the bath. He didn't hear me calling for him, either that or he was too desperate for escape to care. Erwin barely catches him before his head submerges by locking one massive hand under his chin. I want to scream in frustration at how hard it is to move in the water, but eventually, I'm able to reach him, and Erwin releases his hold in favor of letting Eren's limp form sag against me once again. Armin's running around in a panic, comically clutching at his hair and making too much noise, and I'm just—

Tired. 

I'm tired, frightened, worried to the point of feeling sick, and all I want is for Eren to be okay, or at least stitched up and safe in his bed. When this is all over, I want to join him there. I barely slept last night, and even though I've only been awake for a few hours and the sun is still fresh in the sky, I can feel exhaustion permeating my very bones. Petra doesn't seem to be faring much better, sniffing and red-faced and too close to falling over in a sobbing heap on the floor. I would love to take part in her breakdown. I would love to dissolve into a panicked, crying mess over everything that's happened this morning, but there'd be no one to pick up the pieces, not with Eren unconscious. Everyone seems to be falling apart, and I don't know these people very well, but I know that Eren is still bleeding everywhere and no one is doing anything to stop it. If I can't go to pieces, neither can they. 

"Armin," I thread my hands through Eren's hair again and look up at the small man who's frozen in his tracks, "Stitch him up." He swallows thickly and nods, walking over to stand next to Erwin, who motions for me to bring Eren closer to be hoisted out of the water once again. I pull myself out as well, shivering slightly as the cool air makes me aware of just how soaked my pants are. Petra wordlessly offers me a towel, and I settle on the floor next to her, wrapping myself in the fluffy, white fabric. I can already feel my eyelids wanting to droop, and I'm struck with the realization that I've done this before, that I fell asleep in a dripping puddle at the head of the unconscious and injured prince not even two days ago. I really do want to sleep, to forget everything around me for a few hours, but I refuse to let my eyes close until they're finished with Eren. Armin puts the sutures down, causing me to look up as he gingerly grabs Eren's bandaged wrist, grimacing at the dark spots where his wounds split and bled through the gauze. "When did that happen?" I ask quietly. Armin gives me a pointed look before picking up his needle and resuming the tedious task of sewing Eren's ribboned skin back together. I don't understand what he's trying to tell me until I feel my towel being pushed down, making way for a warm cloth to swipe across my back, and I remember the lines Eren tore into my skin as they flare to life once again. 

He'd been tensing his hands hard enough to split his scabs and stitches.

I wince as the warm water drips into my scratches, stinging as it cleans them out, but it's over soon enough, and delicate fingers start wrapping fresh white gauze around my torso again. I hadn't really noticed how much my ribs have been hurting until now. I was running through hallways and up stairs, feeling nothing due to the sheer amount of adrenaline in my system. I could almost double over with the intensity of its return, but Eren is far from healed, and I'm not going to leave him to deal with myself. He would never leave me if our places were reversed. 

As I stare down at him like this and observe his face pressed against the tile twitch in pain even through his self-induced unconsciousness, I wonder if we will ever have peace. If we'll ever be able to be together without something terrible constantly befalling us. Even with the events of the last few days, my life has never been better. I'm not hungry, I'm cleaner than I've ever been, and I'm not alone, but I wish more than anything that we could just... Live. Wake up in the morning without feeling the weight of the future crushing the air out of our lungs. Feed each other grapes on his balcony. Take a bath together. Kiss each other breathless without feeling like its the last time we'll ever be able to do so. When he touches me, I want to feel the rough skin of his hands, not the soft texture of gauze. I want to be able to fist my own hands in his hair without being hindered by a broken finger. 

I want us to be safe. 

I've spent so much of my life not really expecting to live through the week, but all of a sudden, I've been given everything. I've been fed, clothed, and absolutely showered in affection I've done nothing to deserve, but it's hard to enjoy these things to their fullest potential when I'm worried about how much blood Eren's losing, or about how if I move wrong, my splintered ribs could stab through my lung. It's overwhelming how much I want to protect him, even though what landed us in this mess is my inability to protect myself. I can't help but come back to one singular thought.

I need to be stronger.

Even if it's the last thing I want to do, I need to speak with Erwin. I need to learn how to be unbreakable, physically and mentally, and there's no one better to teach me how than the utterly undaunted Commander of the Kingsguard. If he trained Eren, he can train me too, and I will make myself unstoppable. I will snarl in the face of the panic and fear that has plagued me since the death of my friends, and I will protect myself, so Eren doesn't have to. 

I don't know how long we've been sitting here when Armin finally straightens, shifting until he's no longer bowed over Eren's back. Several times, Erwin had to press a sponge similar to the one they used when he tore open his hands against his nose to keep him unconscious. He hit his head pretty hard, but it didn't do any real damage, and even though he might be sore, it saved us from having to put him to sleep in the first place.  Armin's slim fingers are stained with blood now, but none of the scarlet liquid dripping around his knuckles came from him. When I look back to Eren, the mangled skin appears different, but it's not any less ragged and disgusting. The deep lacerations are pulled together with thick, dark thread, and the shallow cuts and scrapes have been cleaned and left alone. Instead of being a mess of ribboned flesh, the skin of Eren's back is now an unnatural horror, full of crooked stitches and covered in rusty splatters of dried blood. "I know it looks... a little macabre," Armin starts as he cleans his hands, "but he's going to be alright. Naturally, there's going to be scarring, but as long as it stays clean, he should heal normally." I release a breath I didn't know I was holding and reach down to slip my tired fingers into his hair. Armin continues his work, disinfecting and bandaging and disinfecting again until enough time has passed for the sun to start descending from it's apex. I hadn't noticed Petra leave the bathroom, but she pushes a tray laden with several trays of steaming rice and some sort of meat through the double doors and over to where we're gathered around Eren's prone body. It smells incredible, but once again, in the face of our situation, I have a hard time tasting it. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm concerned about the possibility that such rich food will make me sick, but my stomach drowns out my worries with the severity of it's hunger. 

I finish before everyone else and end up watching, observing how leisurely they eat, like they have lifetimes to finish. I suppose they do, in a way, but I'm still so used to a world where if you don't eat your food quickly, it can very easily be taken from you. There are no leftovers, and there is no time to contemplate the inner workings of your mouth while you slowly chew up a meal like some sort of kine. In the world familiar to me, the world of pity and dust and painfully empty stomachs, you eat, and then you move on, drawing as little attention to yourself as possible. It's hard to accept the fact that I don't live in that world anymore, even when I'm surrounded by reminders; food is available in excess, and I'm no longer covered in the misplaced sympathy that sticks to beggars like sweat. I am, however, still in danger. Eren has repeatedly told me that he has no idea what will happen if my presence in the palace is discovered, but he's made it very clear that he wishes to avoid such a risk at all costs. 

I don't know what wakes him, but there's a freshly bandaged hand slowly reaching to cover mine, which has once again taken refuge in his slightly damp hair. I can feel his shaky exhales against my knee through the thin fabric of my pants, and he shifts, face scrunching in pain, to press his forehead against my leg. He takes a few deep breaths before speaking, voice quiet and unsteady. "I... I hurt you. Are you— are you okay?" He won't look at me, won't even open his eyes, but I still smile softly in his direction, fighting the despair weighing down the corners of my mouth. What a stubborn man, refusing to acknowledge what I'm sure is blistering pain because he's concerned about my own.

"I'm okay. Don't worry about me." I move my hand out from underneath his to smooth the hair away from his face, and he cracks an eye open, watery turquoise iris appearing even more vibrant in the midst of irritated red veins.

"Your back, you were bleeding and I was the one that caused it—"

" _My_  back?" I let out a dry, sharp bark of laughter. "You're worried about  _my_  back? Have you  _seen_  yours?" He winces and closes his eye again, pressing his face harder against my leg.

"I don't think I want to see it. God, I'm going to be bedridden for  _days_ , how annoying." 

"There's always paperwork!" Petra chirps from the other side of the room, and Eren groans and mumble incoherencies into my clothed thigh. She spares a glance to his dramatic display before looking up at me and smiling for the first time today. "He really does have a lot of paperwork to get through. I wonder if he'll be able to sit at his desk or not." I remember that desk. It's large, wooden, and laden with papers, accentuated by a sturdy, high-backed chair. 

"Not today." I shift slightly and Eren grunts in protest as my knee is temporarily pressed against his nose. "I'm using my nonexistent authority to sentence both him and myself to bedrest." 

"I second that." Eren grumbles loudly, voice still muffled against my leg. I thread my fingers back into his hair, and he cracks his bloodshot eye open to look at me again. 

It hurts, seeing him like this, and I don't understand how he's not in utter agony. It makes no sense that he's just recently been torn to ribbons and then stitched back together but he's still managing to hold a conversation and pout on the floor. "How can you stand it?" I whisper incredulously, "How are you even functioning like this? Aren't you in pain?" He closes his eye and sighs, as if he, too is wondering how he's so in control of himself, but then the calm drops from his face almost too fast for me to catch it's departure. His jaw clenches impossibly tight, tight enough that I swear I can hear his teeth cracking. 

"Ah— you're right, I—  _ah_ — don't know how this was—   _oh god_ —" He gasps, and I watch in horror as panicked tears start to gather in the corners of his eyes. I can see the mass of thread in his back straining against the expanding heave of his lungs, and I raise my eyes to the rest of the room, frantically searching for Armin's blond head. He's eating in the corner with Petra and Erwin, but when he catches my frantic expression, he jumps to his feet fast enough to upset the plate of food that was in his lap. Eren is trying his best to stay still, to fight the pain that wants him writhing in agony, but he's jerking violently with the effort, and his teeth are buried in his bottom lip with enough force to draw blood. Armin is digging through his bag, throwing rolls of bandages and various splinting material over his shoulders until he finds what he's looking for, a small glass vial filled with little waxy beads. He shuffles over to us and drops to his knees beside Eren before turning his head to the side and forcing his jaw open. Eren thrashes once before squeezing his eyes shut and going still, and Armin drops one of the tiny yellow pearls on his tongue. Eren obediently closes his mouth and swallows, shaking and trembling even as his face relaxes. 

"What did you do to him?" I look over at Armin, who is moving back to his bag and cleaning up what he scattered everywhere. 

"I gave him a poppy tear. It's a highly concentrated painkiller, and it might make him a little... inebriated, but he'll feel better." I'm confused, but when I look back at Eren, he already seems to be calming down. His jaw slowly unclenches until he's gone limp against the floor, loose and peaceful with relaxation. 

I look at Armin, then Eren, then back at Armin again. "That fast?" 

"That fast." He grins and turns his eyes back to the languid form of the Prince. "Poppy tears are a form of opium... I don't like using them very often because of their addictive tendencies, but a small dose like that should be fine, and they do work quickly."

"Leeeeevi—," Eren drawls from the floor, "Levi darling, come back down here, when did you get so tall?" This shouldn't be funny, but I'm already forcing back laughter at the sight of his dopey smile. 

"Make sure he doesn't move around too much," Armin warns, closing his bag and standing up, "I'm not sure he'll feel it if he splits his stitches." I nod and glance back down at Eren, and when he notices I'm looking at him, his face splits into a huge smile, and he tries to twist up and grab at me. I swat at his hands, trying to keep him laying still on his stomach, but he immediately starts pouting at the rejection and turns his head away from me.

"Oh Eren, don't do that, look, I'm coming over there now." I scoot around him to lay down and he blinks a few times before a smile spreads slowly across his face. 

"My darling, my Levi, look at your pretty face, oh, and your pretty silver eyes, I want to kiss them." 

"You can't kiss my eyes, Eren." There's no point in trying to hide my amusement anymore. I can't fight the grin off my face.

"Levi, come closer, I have to tell you a secret." I lean in a little closer, even though I'm already laying next to him on the floor, and I watch his eyes widen as he loudly whispers, "I want to kiss you  _everywhere_." I know my face darkens at his words, but he doesn't know what he's saying, so I choose to ignore it. 

"Mmm, that so?" I hum patiently as he awkwardly flops his arm upwards to wrap his hand around mine.

"Of course," He says seriously, "but it's a secret, so you can't tell anyone, not even Eren." I disguise my chuckle as a snort before promising I won't tell anyone his secret, and he starts humming happily to himself, cheek pressed against the tiled floor, wide, dilated irises searching my face. He hasn't moved a lot, he's still laying flat on his stomach, but his fingers are tapping a wild staccato rhythm against the back of my hand, and every time I blink, he gasps and giggles.

"Armin," I call distantly, "He's gone completely stupid."

"That's normal, don't worry," Armin answers with a dismissive wave of his hand before going back to cleaning the last bits of food off the floor from where he'd spilled earlier.

"Levi..." I return my focus to Eren's blissful expression and raise my eyebrow in silent question. "Leeeeevi."

"Yes?"

"Levi, ellie, levylevylevy elvie elf..."

"Not an elf, just short."

" _Levi!_ "

"What?" I'm so confused. I feel like I'm talking with a drunk child.

"Nonono, you're not listening."

"What is it Eren?"

"Levi—" I shift around to move my arm out from underneath me and cover his mouth with my hand, but his only response is to slowly drag his tongue up my palm, and I jerk away with a poorly concealed screech.

"Oh, you brat. That's disgusting." He doesn't have a response, he simply continues to stare at me, his previous words forgotten, blinking his glassy eyes infrequently enough to make his gaze unsettling. Laying like this is starting to hurt my ribs, so I move to sit up, but Eren locks his grip around my wrist, like he's afraid I'm leaving. I put my hand back in his hair as I get up in an attempt to reassure him, and he immediately settles under my fingers, closing his eyes and continuing to hum softly to himself, giggling occasionally. 

"I feel so wonderful, Levi," He whispers, eyes still shut, "Everything is so soft and beautiful. I want to stay right here forever." I smile softly at his slurred words, stroking his hair and thanking any higher power that will listen for keeping him mindless of his terrible pain. It scares me, what he'll feel when he's lucid, but if he's happy right now, I suppose that's all that matters. On a day like today, I'll take what I can get. He does look ridiculous, smiling euphorically and mumbling to himself, but anything is better than watching him twist and writhe with crippling discomfort. 

It isn't long until a shadow falls over us, and I look up to see Erwin, blocking the light from the window with his towering form. Armin is right behind him, and they both move to wordlessly lift the dozing Prince and settle him over the Commander's massive shoulder. His eyes open wide and he struggles against Erwin's strong hold until his eyes flick over to me. That slow, blissful smile spreads across his face once more, and he relaxes before lifting his arms. He looks younger than I've ever seen him, slung over Erwin's back and reaching for me like a child. I sit on the edge of the bed, and Erwin lowers Eren's limp form down towards me, propping him up on my shoulders as Armin rolls length after length of thick white gauze around his torso. I can hear him giggling softly against my ear as he wraps his arms around my neck, and I turn my head to bury my nose in his hair. "I'm sore Levi, I want to lay down..." he whines softly, and I glance up at Armin, wondering if he heard Eren's whimpering. He nods curtly before finishing his bandaging and smoothing his palms up Eren's ribcage and over his shoulders, flattening any odd creases. I want to smack his much-too-friendly hands away, but he's already retreating, not even taking notice of my unwarranted bristling. 

Eventually we manage to get Eren in the bed, but I'm left panting and clutching at my side by the time it's all over. Erwin's plan was for me to pull him into the bed on top of myself and wriggle out from underneath him once he was more or less centered on the mattress, but we both managed to forget about my own injuries in the face of Eren's, and I was pretty confused myself when the weight of Eren's drugged body yanked a sharp cry out of my throat. I hadn't been stabbed, but it felt like someone was slipping a blade between my ribs and into my lungs. Erwin raises his eyebrow in a silent question, but I nod off his concern, trying to turn my gasps into normal, steady exhales. Hot fingers bring me out of my concentration, clumsily smoothing up over my shoulder and dancing heavily over one side of my face. I turn away from the Commander and towards Eren, looking foggy but concerned, frustrated with his own attempts at movement. "Did you get hurt darling?" He whispers, eyebrows pinching with sleepy concern. I shake my head in answer, already feeling the small smile threatening to spill its way on to my face. Just looking at him makes all the unpleasant things drain from my mind, and I shift closer to him, wondering if I can manage to press up against his side without hurting him. 

The worried expression slips from his features, and he closes his eyes before throwing an arm over my midsection and pulling me closer. I'm curled against his side once again, and the familiar warmth and smell of his body is making my eyelids droop. I hear the fabric rustling quietly, but I pay no mind to it until I feel a brief, lazy press of lips against my forehead. "It'll get easier." 

"What?" I snap my eyes open to have my vision filled with huge striated disks of gold and turquoise, practically swallowing the black pinpoints of pupil at their centers. The voice that sounded a few seconds ago does not match the person looking at me now. He sounded normal, calm and reassuring and entirely sober, but his eyes are almost frightening with how shrunken his pupils are. He looks both crazed and drugged at the same time, and it's a confusing mix. "What did you say?"

"I said it'll get easier. This isn't a fairytale, but it shouldn't be the nightmare we've had to go through either. All I know is that this—  _us_ — will get easier, and when it does, you can bet this rotten kingdom that I'm going to spoil the hell out of you." His eyes slip shut once again, and I'm left with too much in my mind for my exhausted body to handle. I lay here for what feels like forever, trying to sort all these thoughts that don't belong in my head. There is no way for him to know that everything turn out well for us in the end, no  _possible_  way, and that's what scares me. I had everything bright taken out of my life, I watched as my parents starved and my best friends were killed, but then entered Eren, repainting my perpetual greyscale in shades of red and gold and turquoise. I can't bear having the vibrance disappear again, I just  _can't_. What if this doesn't get better? What if it's too hard? What if we get caught and Eren has to undergo another scourging, or worse?

The covers feel constricting all of a sudden, and even the warm press of Eren's body feels like it's crushing the air out of me. I try to move as carefully as I can while simultaneously avoiding sending myself into panic, but when I slowly shuffle out from underneath Eren's drugged and sleepy body, his face scrunches in sharp discomfort, and I'm suddenly backing away fast enough to fall off the bed. There are too many images flashing behind my eyelids when I blink, and they are all my own memories of Eren's face contorting with pain. At the wooden post, in the bath, on the floor, even just now in the bed, it's so much,  _too_  much, and it's my fault, all my fault. I feel lost and sick and  _horrible_ , so I try to make myself as small as possible, burying my head in my arms and drawing my knees up against my chest, waiting for the storm of guilt to pass. I keep reliving his pain in the dark of my mind, and  _I wish it would stop_ , I don't want to see the cruel claws tearing into the skin of his back  _again and again and again_  and I can't even feel where I am anymore, I'm lost in an ocean of agony that doesn't belong to me and I know he's trying to be strong but it's  _horrifying_ watching his desperate attempts to restrain himself and only ending up worse, and I can't do  _anything_  and I don't understand why he keeps throwing himself in danger for me because he can't possibly be alright after getting flogged half to death and  _I'm_  the reason it happened and  eventually he's going to get himself  _killed_  and—

There's a small hand resting on my shoulder. That's all I need to focus on to ground myself, to feel my arms locked around my shins and my back against the side of the bed. I must be getting better at this, because it only takes a few minutes for me to be able to raise my head and look up, blinking in the sudden brightness and watching Petra's sad smile come into focus. "Tea, Levi?" She hands me a small cup filled with spicy dark liquid, and I wrap my fingers around it tightly, trying to pull it's warmth into my frigid body through my hands. She squeezes my shoulder before walking away, and when she leaves, the sound of the door closing is louder than it's ever seemed before.

 

\--------------------

 

_Waking up in an empty bed shouldn't startle me as much as it does. I remember very little of the time before I eventually dozed off, but I know I was heavily drugged for pain. I can feel it now, but it's not so alarmingly intense like it was earlier, creeping up on me after I'd somehow managed to forget about it.  It's more of a burn now, uncomfortable and achey and much too hot, but manageable. I don't feel like my skin is being torn off ribbon by ribbon, and I suppose that counts as an improvement. I shuffle around a little bit, trying to position my arms in a way that keeps them from losing feeling, and I get a glimpse of messy black hair right over the edge of my bed. I shift carefully, rotating myself with out bending or twisting my waist, and what fills my eyes makes my chest hurt._

_He's so beautiful, I don't think I'll ever be able to stand it. He's sitting on the floor, leaning back against the bed with his legs out in front of him. His thin fingers are wrapped around a small teacup, and I can see the steam wafting up in swirling columns from the dark liquid inside. The shape of his face, the way his hair falls against the graceful slope of his nose, and the way his sharp silver eyes stare out the window without really seeing through it at all keeps me frozen in place, not wanting to disturb whatever peace he's found in his too-troubled mind. I can't imagine how hard this all must be for him. If I had to stand by and watch as someone tore into him and caused him pain, I think I'd lose my mind.  I'm not sure I'd be able to stop myself from killing everyone responsible for making him bleed, and I know that with his massive amounts of pride, I wouldn't be forgiven easily. I feel like I'm failing, like I'm letting him down. I didn't want to bring him here so soon, especially not before he knew who I was, but I had no choice after what happened. I needed to take care of him, for my own peace of mind and for his safety. I want so badly to make his life wonderful, to make him feel happiness overwhelming enough to soothe the undeserved broken spots he's been dealt, but I fear that I'm only making it worse, that being here is too stressful and bothersome for him to want to stay._

_Even the pain lacing through the destroyed skin of my back is nothing compared to how I feel, wanting to give him everything and only being able to give him heartache._

_I will be selfish. I won't force him to stay, but I'll beg him not to leave if that's what it comes to. I didn't realize just how hollow I really was until I had something to fill me up, and I never want to be empty again. Even watching him like this, wrapped in his own world and entirely unaware of my presence, makes me feel so full of--_ something _that it's hard to breathe._

_It's a rare day when the sun isn't shining over the kingdom, but enough clouds gathered while I was asleep to eclipse it's usual golden glare. I'm suddenly thankful for the thin grey light streaming through my window, because as Levi finally notices that I'm staring at him and turns to face me, the color washes over his face in the most wonderful way, silver eyes practically glowing, dark eyelashes casting long shadows over his cheekbone. He doesn't speak, simply puts his teacup to the side and moves to sit on his knees, right under where I've positioned myself for my head to hang off the bed. This close, I can see the spray of pale freckles across his nose, and I've just about given up trying to breathe when he lifts his hands from his lap and settles them on the either side of my head. He stays very still, not moving his steely gaze from my face, and I'm entirely prepared to remain paralyzed, but then he moves too fast for me to follow and brutally smashes his lips against mine._

_I don't have time to react before he bites his way into my mouth, desperately nipping and sucking at everything he can reach with his tongue and teeth. I can't keep up. He tastes like fear, and I don't like it. Our teeth knock together and he whimpers, pressing impossibly closer, biting hard enough to draw blood.  I struggle to prop myself up on my elbows, and eventually I'm able to grab his chin and gently urge him backwards. I feel my stomach clench as I take in his wet face, his tight jaw and frantic eyes, and it hurts. It hurts so much to see him like this, and I can't believe I didn't notice his distress sooner._

_"Levi, it's okay, I'm okay."_

_He shakes his head fiercely and squeezes his eyes shut, forcing more tears to spill down his cheeks. "You're not," he says, opening them again and looking up at me, "You're not."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said the angst would be taking a break, but I only half-way lied. It's not too bad right? RIGHT?  
> Sorry  
> I hope you still love me, it'll be lovey dovey soon enough, but relationships aren't easy if you know what I mean.  
> Also I just got really REALLY into bleach on accident and now I want Ichigo to fuck Byakuya and I'm a mess but that's okay.
> 
> COME YELL AT ME: @bitchflavoredicecube (http://bitchflavoredicecube.tumblr.com)  
> Ha okay see y'all later.


	13. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi and Eren spend time resting in bed, healing from their various injuries and re-evaluating what they mean to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS MY GIFT TO YOU ALL  
> Consider this an apology present for all the torture I've put you through these last few chapters.  
> All good things, all good things. Mostly.  
> ALSO. There isn't exactly "smut" per say, however, there's a spot in the middle there with some //pretty heated making out// *eyebrow wiggle*  
> Anyways yes  
> Enjoy.

"Oh, Levi..." I swallow thickly at how sorrowful he sounds, but his fingers holding my chin are keeping me from looking away. He exhales shakily before releasing me in favor of moving his hands up to where I'm still holding his face and briefly covering my fingers with his own bandaged palms. "Come here," he murmurs, "Come up here and let me hold you." He awkwardly twists to sit up, grimacing at the movement, and holds out his arms.  I don't hesitate to crawl onto the bed and into his lap, settling against him like I've been doing it for years. I can't put my arms around him with his back the way it is, so I settle for curling them against his chest and pressing my face into his shoulder.  "Tell me what you need, darling," He says quietly, "Anything you want, it's yours."

I don't want to cry. I  _hate_  crying. I hate how it makes me feel, how it makes me  _look_ , and it's messy, disgusting and wet and frustrating. If I unclench my teeth, I know for a fact that I'll start crying, so I stay silent with the exception of my shaky inhales.  The problem is, he knows me. He knows me too well to take my silence in stride, and when his bandaged hands start to move softly up and down my back, and I find myself involuntarily pressing closer, surrounding myself with the comfort of this closeness.  It almost makes me angry, how  _safe_  it feels to be wrapped up with him, but I like the feeling too much to resent it, and I only end up sagging against him, distantly noting the return of the exhaustion that goes too deep to be healed by tea and sleep alone.  "I'm sorry this has been so hard," he whispers into my hair, "Tell me what I can do to make this easier for you."

"Stop saying everything's okay when it's not." The words come out before I can stop them, and his hands freeze in the middle of my back. I hold my breath, not wanting to say anything more, and when he speaks, his voice is quiet, careful, like he's worried he'll say the wrong thing.

"I— I'm sorry. I think I was trying to convince myself as much as you." He sighs quietly and starts pressing soft kisses against the top of my head, sending warmth down my spine and causing my eyes to close against my will. "You're right of course," he murmurs, "I'm not okay, but after all you've been through in the past few days, you don't have to be okay either." He starts moving his hands down my back again, and I wish I could freeze this moment, stop time and doze in this comfort forever. I want so badly to keep him safe and content.

"I... I'm not good with words, not like you are," I mumble against his shoulder, "but you... don't  _have_  to act invincible.  No one's here but me, and you're  _broken_. You're allowed to  _act_  broken.  Let me— let me take care of  _you_  for a change." 

He wraps his arms tightly around my back and sighs. "You being here with me is already helping more than you know." I don't know how much truth there is in those words, but I won't argue with anything that makes him feel better. I feel myself getting tired again, but I prefer this feeling to the chilling panic that was coagulating in my stomach earlier.  I don't know what triggered it, but I felt like the entire world was crashing down around me, like I'd finally been jerked out of the trance keeping me safe from my own memories. I knew I'd have to acknowledge them eventually, acknowledge the fact that I'd just witnessed the person I hold most dear being torn to shreds and sewn back together again, but I tried to ignore it as long as possible. I was a fool to think I could escape from fears that involve Eren, especially when I can't stand being away from him.  It doesn't matter so much now, he's already chasing them away. I'm not seeing his agonized face behind my eyelids anymore, and I'm not driving myself mad with the thought that I could have lost him today if he was any less stronger than he is.

I really could fall asleep in his lap, surrounded by his exotic scent, bathing in the warmth radiating off his body. Now that I focus on it, he really does feel like he's burning up. The closer I get to his back, the hotter he is. "Are you okay?" I lean back and grab his face, lightly pressing my hands against his cheeks. "You don't have a fever, do you?" 

He shakes his head and smiles crookedly. "I think it's hot because it's trying to heal. I'm sure it's normal, but I can ask Armin about it later if it'll make you feel better." I hum softly and press my face into his neck again, and he fidgets slightly, fingers dancing over my spine. "Lay down with me?" He asks, voice only slightly tighter than normal, "This is starting to get a little uncomfortable." I nod and slowly maneuver myself out of his lap, crawling over to the middle of the bed and laying down on my back. He crawls after me, moving in between my legs and hovering on his elbows over me abdomen. "Which side is it?" I gesture to the very obvious bruising still peeking out from the bandages, and he snorts before settling his head against my good side and closing his eyes. "Is this okay?" He asks, sounding sleepy but content. 

"This is perfect." I move my hands into his thick hair and sigh as he slides his fingers up my thighs and over my hips to curve around my waist. I can feel his thumbs stroking lightly over my hip bones, and I have to hold back a shudder at the wonderful sensation. I let my eyes slip shut, and I can feel him moving over slightly to let some of his weight fall to the mattress while the rest of him presses against my side. One of my hands stays tangled in his hair and the other slips to the side and falls against my chest as I get pulled into unconsciousness. 

I've been drifting in and out of sleep when I feel his fingers start dragging lightly across my stomach. I crack my eyes open to look at him, but all I can see is the top of his head. He doesn't seem to know that I'm watching him, so I resolve to stay still and wait for him to notice. His fingers swirl little patterns across the white gauze covering most of my torso, and his hand drifts lower and lower until his fingertips come in contact with the bare stripe of skin between where the bandages end and the waistband of my pants begins. I struggle to keep my breathing normal, but the feather-light tracing of his fingers has my heart beating faster and unfamiliar warmth curling heavily in my stomach. I don't know if this is normal, if  my reaction to his ministrations is how anyone would normally react, but I know I don't want him to stop. If anything, I want  _more._ I want more, but I don't know what  _more_ is. I wouldn't know how to ask that of him, or if he would even want to do anything like that with me. I don't know what gave me away, but his fingers come to a halt in the dip before my hipbone, and he tilts his head back to look at me, eyes unusually bright and full of something deep and unfathomable. His gaze is steady and focused even as he goes through the painstaking process of moving himself closer to my face. I don't know why, but I'm suddenly breathless, speechless, and frozen, grounded to this moment solely by my fingers still buried in his hair.  Looking at him brings back the same things I felt when he was pressing slices of tangerine against my lips with the lines of his fingers colored in by the sunset, but this time it's all so much stronger. I feel like he's wrapped his hands around my heart and squeezed it, emptying me and filling me up at the same time.

I know somehow that if I speak, this will be ruined, shattered like glass all over my mind and left to reflect what might've been all across my thoughts. He slips one of his hands under my shoulder and moves the last few inches to hover over my face, and I can't do anything more than slide my other hand to join its partner in his hair. Even with my fingers buried in it, long tresses still spill over his shoulders and pool against the hypersensitive skin of my collarbones. I can't imagine why it feels so  _wonderful_ , but it  _does_ , and I don't even bother suppressing the shiver that shoots up my spine. His free hand trails gently up my side and over my shoulder to cup my face, long fingers curving around the back of my neck. I don't know what's happening, I don't know what to do or how to react, but in this moment I know with every fiber of my being that I'll never be able to live without Eren. In less than two weeks he's managed to intertwine himself into every aspect of my existence, and to be without him now would feel empty, like living without any air, or any lungs to breathe it with. I'm not in any way romantic, I have no idea how to  _be_  romantic, but I think... 

I think this is what love feels like.

 _Too full and too empty at the same time_. Knowing that without  _him,_  the sun might as well never shine again for how dark the world would be. This realization is more painful than it should be, making the air freeze in my lungs, and the blood freeze in my veins. I'm no fool. I know what these words mean, and I know they have the heavy potential to ruin everything we've built if I decide to say them. I know this shouldn't have happened this fast, that love takes time and trust, but with my hands tangled in his hair and his eyes locked steadily on mine, I can't find any protests or doubts within myself. 

I love him. 

That thought is what's rushing through my mind when he finally closes the distance between us and kisses me, it's what's bleeding out of my heart when I pull his bottom lip into my mouth and feel him shudder from his shoulders to his toes, and it's what's wrapping itself around my fingers as they bury themselves deeper in his impossibly thick brown hair. There's an urgency to this that was nowhere near present a few moments ago, but I'm glad for it now as he slides his hand up the back of my head and presses closer, kisses harder. He's the only person I've ever wanted like this, and it's getting harder and harder to control my hands. I want to press them into his back and pull him against me, but I  _can't_ and I  _won't,_ so they settle for skimming restlessly up and down his sides, sliding back into his hair, and coming forward to touch his face before moving somewhere else again. It seems to be driving him crazy, because he growls against my mouth and drops some of his weight onto my good side, pressing close enough for me to feel his wild heartbeat against my chest. I find myself caring less and less about what spurred this rush of affection with each slide of his tongue against mine. All I'm concerned with is his body pressing me into the mattress and his hand dragging over my skin. He's tangled his fingers in the longer hair at the top of my head, and just as I become aware of how much my lungs are burning, he pulls away to gasp against my neck, the lack of air in my body leaving me dizzy. 

He doesn't leave me any time to recover before he moves to my neck, breathing harshly and ghosting his lips over the fading bruises there before latching to the sensitive skin under my jaw. My hands fly back into his hair, desperately holding him against me as he attacks my throat with increasing fervor. I've never felt anything like this before, like I'm slowly burning up from the inside. Every movement of his hot mouth against my neck sends an almost  _painful_ bolt of pleasure straight through my chest and into my stomach, and my mind can't keep up with all these new sensations torturing my nerves. I know he's leaving marks, but I can't think of any possible repercussions, and it feels  _so wonderful_ to be at the mercy of his tongue and teeth. The hand he's tangled in my hair gently tugs my head to the side, and when his teeth graze a scorching trail from my collarbone to the shell of my ear, I can't help but writhe underneath him, digging my heels into the backs of his thighs and forcing our hips together. " _Ah!_ Eren, Eren  _please—_ " I don't know what I'm pleading for, but something inside me feels like it's breaking, and he's the only one that can hold me together. 

" _Levi_ —" he groans against my neck, and I manage to respond with some sort of gasping cry that sends a violent shiver through his whole body. I feel like I'm on fire, like I'm being consumed by flames and dragging him down to burn with me. He releases my hair in favor of dragging a hand down my chest and stomach, hooking a thumb under the waistband of my pants before the gravity of the situation catches up with the both of us simultaneously, and we freeze in place. 

He jerks his hand away, and I'm sure he'd be flying backwards if my fingers weren't still tangled in his hair, not that he could move anywhere very efficiently with the current state of his back. He's panting heavily, staring at me with crazed eyes, pupils so blown that I can barely see the rings of mismatched color surrounding them. His hair is curling wildly around my fingers, some still falling around his neck and on to my skin, but I'm the most concerned about his mouth. His lips are bruised and swollen, and  _I_ was the one who made them like that. I'm sure I'm not in much better shape than he is, seeing as he was kissing me with just as much enthusiasm as I was kissing him, tangling his hand in my hair and pressing his fingers into my skin like his life depended on it. "What—" I start, cut off by my own harsh breathing, "What was  _that?_ " 

He groans and drops his head to my shoulder, making me shiver as his breath ghosts over the moisture he left behind. "I'm sorry," he pants, "I'm sorry— I lost control of myself. Are— are you okay? I didn't hurt you at all?"

"No," I muse quietly, "No, you didn't hurt me..."  _I loved it, I love you..._  "But where did that come from?"

"I needed you," he says simply, voice shaking only a little, "I needed to remind myself that you were real. Sometimes I'm afraid that you're not, that I've dreamt this whole thing up and I'm going to wake up alone." He laughs quietly and presses closer to my neck. "I may have gone a little overboard." 

"I didn't mind," I hum softly, threading my fingers through his dark tangles. I really  _didn't_  mind, I wish he would do that again without stopping, but I'm sure he'll want to discuss everything first, and there's no way either of us would be able to endure that kind of... physical exertion in our current conditions. I've never felt anything  _like_  that before, the intense shocks of  _something_  shooting from my throat to my stomach, desperately urging me to pull him closer. I still feel too hot, flushed and unstable, even tucked underneath his solid body. I fidget a little, pressing my thighs together and hissing softly at the unfamiliar sensations. I know how that sort of thing is supposed to go, and even with my very limited experience, I've been around brothels before. People don't always keep their activities indoors. I've seen men and women and combinations of both being wrecked and absolutely  _loving_ it. It's disgusting to hear, even more disgusting to watch. Sex is sweaty and messy and loud and all around terrible, but I don't think I would feel like that if it were Eren. The one and only time I'd tried to sell myself ended horribly, with me bleeding and alone on the floor of a dark smelly room, staring at the handful of coins the man had thrown at me before pulling his pants up and leaving. I hadn't been able to walk right for a week. 

Eren would be different. Even a few minutes ago, when we were both out of control and wrapped up in each other, he was avoiding my bruises, always hyper-aware of what his hands were doing and how I was reacting. I want to lose myself in him again, forget the past few days and focus on the way his mouth feels on my skin, but we're both too injured, too inexperienced and tired. I glance down at him and he still looks dazed, intoxicated by what we did. His face is all flushed, his head is practically dead weight on my shoulder, and it's quite possible the most perfect thing I've ever seen. 

"You're beautiful." His gaze flicks up to my face, and I realize I must've spoken out loud. He blinks at me a few times like he's making sure I'm being serious before lifting a gauze-wrapped hand to my face and stroking my bottom lip with his thumb. His movements are so tender it makes my throat tighten, just a little. I don't know what I've done to deserve kindness like this, but I'll do anything to keep it. Every time I look at him, he becomes more and more wonderful. He really is beautiful, captivating and lovely, inside and out. I could stare at him forever, but he scoots closer to press a soft kiss right in front of my ear and stays there with his lips pressed into my skin. He falls asleep like that, hand sliding off my face and landing on my chest. I can hardly breathe, and I have no idea why all of this is affecting me now. Nobody ever told me that it hurts to love someone, but it  _does_ , it hurts  _so much_. I don't remember ever being so sappy in my entire life. I'm so used to being emotionless, cold and uncaring and calmly waiting for the end of my disgusting existence, but he's made me human again. He's made me feelso much more than indifference and loneliness, a feat I'd long since believed I'd lost the ability to accomplish. I didn't know how valuable it was to be able to feel human until I realized that I still could, that I missed it. 

I push my fingers into his hair for what feels like the thousandth time, and my eyes are just starting to slip shut when the doors glide open. Armin walks in, feet eerily silent on the tiled floor as he pads up to the bed. "He's asleep?" He whispers, eyes darting to Eren's sleeping form. 

"I think so. What is it? Why are you here?" That came out slightly more hostile than I meant it, but when I think back to his cold, slim-fingered hands running down Eren's sides to smooth his bandages, I don't feel too guilty. 

Armin appears completely unfazed by my less than courteous response and proceeds to speak as if nothing happened, which is more than a little irritating. "Petra sent me to your courtyard with food a little while ago, and I thought you'd be pleased to hear that everyone asked after you two." 

My irritation quickly morphs into surprise. "They asked about us? What did they say?" 

"They were wondering who I was and why you and Eren weren't there," he whispers, amused, "There was a little brown-haired girl who can't wait to see you both again and sends her regards. She's wild, but very intelligent."

I remember her, but I don't remember anything about her being wild. "Are you sure? She always acts so shy..."

"I'm pretty sure, yes. Also, Erwin wants to speak to you later, something about training?" He raises a blond eyebrow in question, and I raise my own back. I never talked to Erwin about training of any sort, how could he have known I wanted to find a way to get stronger?

"I never said anything about that to Erwin," I whisper harshly, "And we're not going anywhere to do  _anything_ today."

"Eren's a grown man, I'm sure he would be fine if you left him alone to talk to Erwin for a few—"

" _No._ Is there anything else? You're going to wake him up." 

I swear I see surprise flash across Armin's intelligent features, but calculating indifference  takes its place so quickly I could have imagined it. "I'll go. I'm sorry." He walks to the door, pausing in the threshold and looking back at me with a small smile. "I'm glad he has someone now. Take care of him Levi." The doors close with a quiet  _thud,_  and I'm left speechless, wondering both what exactly just happened and how alone Eren's been up to this point.  Of course he's had Armin, Mikasa, Erwin and Petra, but they have their own obligations, and they can't always prioritize Eren's well-being.  Armin and Mikasa don't even live in the palace, and when he can manage to go out and visit them, it can't be for very long, not with the way his parents are. I don't understand how they can force a twenty-year-old adult to bend to their will. I suppose since they technically are the rulers of this kingdom, they can do whatever they please, but why would they? What do they have to gain by oppressing Eren like this?

I just want him to be happy. That's all I want, but I don't know how I'm supposed to keep him that way when almost all of the world he lives in is untouchable for someone like me.  I can't do anything about his parents, his injuries, or the state of his kingdom, but I—

I really do love him. 

I look down at his sleeping body and realize that I could tell him right now.  I could say the words that have been threatening to spill out of my mouth for hours without the fear of being rejected or scorned.  It's too soon, I know it's too soon, but I can't help it.  He's never once treated me like I didn't matter, like I was who I was.  He treats me like a human being, and even as the damn  _Prince_ , he's never been one bit condescending, and I know he has every right.  He inspiring, he's healing this kingdom, and he's healing  _me_.

"I love you," I whisper, as quietly as I can manage, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

My heart stops working when his head shoots up and he blinks at me owlishly, looking very stricken and very much awake. 

"What— I— you— Levi, what... did you just say?" I could be sick, I could be sick all over him with the way my stomach is trying to invert itself.  I'm absolutely paralyzed, terrified and embarrassed and ready to throw myself off his balcony, and he's trembling, looking like I've kicked him in the face.  "Levi..." I can see the moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes, and I don't think I've ever hated myself more than I do in this moment. "Did you say... that you loved me? You love me Levi?" Oh  _god_  even his  _voice_  is shaking.  I want to disappear so badly, but he's still waiting for an answer, so I nod weakly, trying to look away from him but finding myself physically incapable of doing so.  He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw, and I can feel my heart lurch painfully at the sight of his tears finally overflowing and streaking down his face in slick tracks.  I need to get away from him, to go somewhere I can't hurt him anymore, but when I try to move, he buries his face in my shoulder and weakly presses his palm flat into my chest. "D-do you know," he starts, taking a few deep shaking breaths before continuing in a voice muffled by my skin, "Do you know how long it's been since anyone has said those words to me?"

 _Oh that hurts.  That hurts terribly. I'm such a fool, such a stupid, stupid idiot_ — 

"Say it again." I blink in shock, not quite knowing if I heard him right. He lifts his stained face to look at me before repeating in a quiet voice full of pain, "Say it again."

I don't know what's going on, but I know it's miserable for both of us, and I know I'll do whatever he asks if it will keep him from crying. I close my eyes, hoping it will be easier if I don't have to look at him. "I- I love you, Eren." My voice is weak and shaky, but I still manage to force the words out. 

"Once more," he whispers hoarsely, sounding much closer than I remember him being. Even with his sudden change in proximity, I still keep my eyes tightly shut as I whisper back to him, "I love you." 

I feel his forehead come into contact with mine, and after a few tense seconds of unsteady breathing, his long fingers brush over the swollen bites and bruises he scattered all down my pale throat earlier. "I love you too," My eyes snap open, only to be swallowed by the overwhelming affection filling his slightly damp, mismatched tropical stare. "I love you too.  I love you so much." I can physically feel the anxiety I'd managed to stockpile in those few seconds of terror leak out of my body as relief floods in.  

He loves me.

He loves me, and even though I'm not nearly as articulate as he is, I'm going to remind him as often as I can that I love him too, because what he said about not ever hearing those words absolutely broke my heart, and just like me, he needs reminding that he never has to be alone again.  


\-----------------------------------  


_I didn't even realize I felt this way until I distantly heard the words slip out of his mouth. He spoke so quietly, like he was afraid of saying anything in the first place, and I suppose that looking back on how he reacted when he realized I'd heard him only reinforces that thought. I didn't know what to do. The last time I remember hearing those words was when I was very small. I didn't understand why my stepmother never came to visit or play with me, and a much younger Petra had reassured me that she loved me no matter what. I can't remember the last time I heard those words from my father, and I'm_ sure  _I've never heard them from my stepmother._

 _Needless to say, when I heard Levi whisper them under his breath like a secret, I was completely shocked. I don't know why I started crying, but I know it only made matters worse when I felt Levi trying to escape. I couldn't bear to let him leave, not like that, but I was so confused. I asked him to say it again, and it felt_ wonderful.  _It felt at least ten times more perfect than anything I'd ever experienced before, so I asked him to say it again, and again._

_I loved it. I love him._

_He's staring at me now with nervous eyes, beautifully silver and reflective as a mirror, and I love him. And this— this perfect human being, this miracle that somehow decided he wanted to be stuck with me, loves me right back. The world could crumble underneath my feet, and I wouldn't even care, not if he was there to sink with me._

_I kiss him softly, chastely, before lowering myself back down to rest against his side. My back is burning me, hurting enough to make the muscles of my face twitch with pain, but it's bearable, as long as he's here_ _,_ _it's bearable. I wish wasn't physically useless, I wish I could pick him up and dance around this huge room with all the giddiness trapped inside me, but neither of us are capable of anything more strenuous than walking. I might not even be able to do that much. He deserves to be treasured, and I'm too injured to treasure him._

 _It scares me, how fast this is all happening. I'm already questioning if I really love him, or if it's just infatuation with something new and exciting. It's awful to think about, but I have to ask myself why. Why do I love him? He's_ wonderful _, but that's not a real answer._

 _I'm one of the wealthiest people in this kingdom, I could literally_ swim _in pools of my own glittering fortune, but Levi's more precious and valuable than anything I've ever beheld._

_That's better. That's closer to something real._

_He's strong, so resilient and fiery. Even when the entire world tries to beat him down, he won't be broken. He doesn't ignore me, he doesn't treat me like a stuffy aristocrat, and he's so_ terribly _endearing. Even though he's small, he's dangerous, like the keen edge of a throwing knife. He's inspiring, he's helping me heal this splintering kingdom, and he's healing me._

_There it is.  That's what I was looking for._

_I've never loved anyone like this before, but if this is what it feels like, I can understand why love is more sought after than all the riches in the world. When I'm well again, I'll give him everything.  When I'm well, I'll make sure he knows just how much he means to me.  I'm glad I'm the one who needs to heal, that it's not him laying in this bed with fire embedded in his spine.  I can hear his heartbeat from where my head is settled on his chest, strong and visceral, reminding me again of just how_ alive _he is. That being said, he's been silent since I laid back down.  I look up to observe his face, and I feel the corners of my mouth curl up at the sight I'm graced with._

_He's asleep.  His exhausted little body is finally still and peaceful underneath me, and his face is free of the anxiety that's been plastered on like a mask for most of today.  His happiness is in my hands now, and so far, I'm failing. He's had to undergo nothing but stress in order to stay with me, and I won't allow that to continue any longer.  If he trusts and cares about me enough to truly love me, than I'll make damn sure his life is perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHAHA  
> SEE WHAT I'M SAYING  
> SEE IT  
> ALRIIIIGHTTT  
> Oh god I'm such a cheesy little fuck I'm sorry  
> Okay but for real thank you all for reading! I feel like I don't tell you all how much it means to me enough. I know this isn't even close to a "very popular fic" but I love writing it, and I love that you all read it, so thank you for your continued support.
> 
> I'm always up for a chat @bitchflavoredicecube on tumblr, so hit me up 
> 
> And as always,  
> Gimme some sugar *3* 
> 
> See y'all next time.


	14. Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day to catch up, to sort things out and plan their next steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am ashamed of how long this took. 
> 
> Like oh man I am so sorry I had some sick-nasty writers block and got flooded with some ideas and oh god I feel so bad. 
> 
> I was so nice this chapter. There's like nothing heartbreaking. I'm a good person (I'm not I'm a sinner who can't meet deadlines)
> 
> Anyways I hope this is good enough to make up for the long absence. 
> 
> Enjoyyyyy

"I- I can't do it Eren, I can't do that."

"C'mon, I know you're almost full, but it's just a little more darling, you can do it."

"I can't fit anything else!"

"But isn't it _good_ Levi?"

"It's- it's _amazing_ , I just can't eat anymore."

"All right, if you're sure." He takes the plate out of my hands and reaches over to place it on the cart Petra left for us before settling his head back on my chest and staring at me with unabashed adoration. It's hard for me to maintain eye contact with him when he does that, but right now I'm more focused on how close my stomach is to bursting than how I'm supposed to make it through a whole day without turning into a puddle the second he fixes his gaze on me. I'd woken up to an intoxicating aroma, only to find Petra at the side of the bed loading some sort of spiced flatbread filled with meat onto a platter for us. Eren called it _manaqish_ , and it was without a doubt the best thing I've ever put in my mouth. I think I ate about five helpings, but even with Eren's persistent encouragement, I couldn't make myself down a sixth.

He's already falling asleep again, breathing evenly against my collarbones with a hand pressed possessively over my sternum. He was dangerously close to death yesterday, and I know his body is using most of his energy to heal itself, but it worries me that he can barely keep his eyes open long enough to eat a proper meal, not that I have a good grasp on what that entails. I can tell that he's still in frightening amounts of pain. He hides it well, but he can't sleep and keep his face perfectly controlled at the same time. His eyes begin to twitch, and I can see the muscles of his jaw spasm as he's lured deeper into unconsciousness. He calms down minutely when I slide my fingers into the tangles at the top of his head, and I realize that I've been making a habit of burying my fingers in his tresses at every opportunity I get, and the thought makes me smile slightly. His hair is so different from mine, and he has so much of it, I probably wouldn't be able to completely wrap my fingers around all of it at once. I witnessed Petra's battle with his hair the day of the scourging, in the bath room when she was combing all the blood out. It's misbehavior would have been humorous if the situation hadn't been so dire. As I roll a few strands between my fingers, I deduce that the oddest thing about it is the texture. His hair is never silky, after Petra's torture it might be soft, shining even, but it remains coarse, unmanageable like the mane of a horse. Even though it's only been a few weeks, mine is already getting too long. What was shaved close to my scalp is long enough to irritate the insides of my ears, and the longer hair at the top of my head is constantly in my eyes. I'm sure someone in the palace could cut it, but I'm not sure how many people Eren wants made aware of my presence here.

The very thought of being discovered makes me nervous, wary and unsettled whenever I hear the door being pushed open. I know it's only a matter of time before someone sees me, but that's a very trying thought, and I don't like dwelling on it. I hope Eren is healed before that happens, because even though I can protect myself, I don't think I can protect the both of us. He's so vulnerable right now, anyone who wanted to take him down would simply have to lay a hand on the healing skin of his back. It frightens me how easily someone could take advantage of his weakness. I know that when he's at his full strength, he's a force to be reckoned with. I didn't see it when he made a mess of the guards, but I heard the screams.

Right now he looks younger than ever, save for the pain and exhaustion scrawled across his face. I don't want to leave him alone, but the longer I put off going to see Erwin, the longer it will take me to get stronger, to have the ability to properly protect myself and the one I hold dear. I start to shift a little, working on maneuvering myself out from under his heavy body, but I freeze when his eyes blink open to stare at me sleepily. "Are you uncomfortable?" Before I can respond, he's gritting his teeth and moving his weight off my chest and legs. I should tell him where I'm going, he's already falling asleep again, and he'll go crazy if he wakes up and I'm not here. There's no reason for me to be nervous, but my hand shakes as I tap the top of his head anyways. He cracks an eye open in silent question, sliver of turquoise barely visible through his slitted eyelid.

"I— uh... I wanted to talk to Erwin." That captures his attention quickly, and he raises his head, fully awake and staring at me incredulously.

"What? Why?" He sounds surprised, but not angry, so I continue with a little more confidence.

"I need to learn how to defend myself. I can't keep depending on you to keep me safe all the time." I wince internally at the hurt that flickers briefly across his mismatched gaze, but I don't take back what we both know to be true. He's the prince, and I can't always be his primary concern, especially when he takes his father's place as Sultan. I watch him carefully, waiting for him to say something until he finally sighs and looks away before speaking quietly.

"I don't suppose you'll take me with you? I need to talk to him about recovery." I scrutinize him, willing him to look at me, but he refuses to meet my eyes until I reach out and push a few dark tangles behind one of his pierced ears. He reluctantly turns his head, letting me cradle his face and staring at me expressionlessly.

"What is it?" I ask softly, and he huffs, eyes flicking from my face to the bandages around my torso and back again.

"Do... do you feel safe here? Do you feel safe with me?"

 _Oh_. "Of _course_ I feel safe with you. That's not what I meant— I just— you can't be everywhere at once. You were almost killed because I couldn't protect myself, and I don't want that to happen again. Do you understand?"

He nods slowly, considering my words before speaking again. "You know I love you. I think it's a good idea for you to be able to fight, and I like knowing you'll be able to defend yourself. However, if being with me _ever_ makes you feel unsafe or frightened, you must promise that you'll tell me. Deal?"

I swallow, trying to ignore the warmth that floods my chest at the words _you know I love you_. "Deal. And for your information, _your highness_ , I already know how to fight."

He laughs shortly at that, looking at me like I've done something terribly endearing. "At your current skill level, you wouldn't last a minute in a real fight against one of my elites." I bristle, offended and ready to protest, but he holds a hand up and keeps talking, suddenly very serious.

"You're small. You're very fast and very fierce, but you don't have the stamina or the physical strength to last in a fight against a soldier who's eaten properly for years and trains daily." As much as I hate his words, I can see the obvious truth in them. I've been starved of anything substantial for most of my life, and I never would've been able to do any training when I was worried more about simply surviving, even if I'd had someone to learn from. The only fights I've won were fast, over in a few hits against an unsuspecting opponent, and I'd immediately lost consciousness after one of them.

"Oh, don't look like that. He snatches my hand away from his face and presses a warm kiss to my palm. "You already know how to move against an adversary. You just need to get stronger and refine your style. I'd teach you myself if I wasn't so extremely crippled at the moment," he jests lightly, looking at me with too much adoration for me to bear without smiling slightly myself.

"I'll be better than you when I'm done." I say, and he laughs, causing me to smile wider.

"We'll see. When we're healed, I'll spar with you anytime."

"You'll lose," I tease, scooting down to lay next to him.

"Maybe," he says casually, leaning down and kissing me, "Maybe not." I gently pull him back down and kiss him again, wondering to myself if I'll ever tire of the way his mouth feels against mine. He pulls away eventually, sighing softly at the sight of my pink face.

"I love you," I whisper breathlessly, and his answering smile might be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"And I love you. Now help me out of this bed, it'll be good for both of us to leave the room." I surge forward to press one more kiss to the side of his mouth before pushing myself off the mattress, gritting my teeth against the achy discomfort of my healing ribs. When I turn around to help him, he's already grimacing and twisting himself into a sitting position. I'm not really sure what to do until he motions me forward, loops an arm around my neck, and hoists himself up to his feet. He's wobbly at first, leaning heavily on me and almost knocking me over with his weight, but he stabilizes himself surprisingly quickly, managing to stay draped over my shoulder despite our significant height difference. I'm not sure what to do with my arms since I can't touch his back, but we make slow progress anyways, out of his room, through a few hallways, even down a narrow flight of stairs before we stop in front of a set of doors equally as massive but significantly less decorated than Eren's own. He's already panting with the effort of moving so much, and I'm really hoping we won't have to go much farther, for my sake as much as his with the way my side are starting to protest the exercise.

"Can you...?" He smiles weakly and gestures at the door with his bandaged hand.

I grin and pound my fist against the large wooden door before turning back to him and curling my fingers around his hips. "Can't even knock on a door. Some prince you are, making other people do your dirty work for you."

He quirks an eyebrow at me and leans in close before whispering, "Healing first, _dirty work_ later." I'm still trying to figure out how to close my mouth when Erwin opens the door.

"Ah, I was wondering when you two would stop by." Even when he's not wearing his armor, he's still larger than any man I've ever seen. We awkwardly shuffle through the door, and Erwin helps me settle Eren on the chaise in the corner. I sit down and lean back against the furniture, pushing up against Eren's fingers when they find their way into my hair. Every single time he touches me, I'm reminded of how much I was missing, how much better my life is now. I haven't had any time to be bitter or sullen because of how focused I've been on being... happy. I never wanted to need anyone, never wanted to depend on anyone other than myself, but each moment I spend with Eren makes me resent the idea less and less.

Erwin's room is large, though it's not nearly as large as Eren's chambers. It's much plainer too, the walls and ceiling bearing nothing more than dark paint over stone. All the furniture, from the large bed to the chest of drawers, is made of the same sturdy wood, thick and practical, but not in the least bit pretty. It's the room of a soldier, a very high ranking soldier.

"Levi, what brings you here?" Erwin sits on the edge of his bed and looks at me expectantly.

"I need you to train me." I'm proud when my voice doesn't shake, and I lift my chin slightly, daring him to refuse.

He smiles at me like he I'm nothing more than a particularly nice prize that he's managed to win for himself, but I won't allow him to burrow under my skin. I meet his expression with a glare of my own, fueled by the memories I have of this man. Memories of his face, cruelly pleased as he listened to the sickening screams of his own soldiers being tortured by his prince, memories of his arms drawing back and stroking the scourge mercilessly across Eren's back, nothing even _remotely_ pleasant. This man has yet to earn any good favor from me.

"Of course. I have a new batch of recruits coming in a few days from now to replace the— ah— the other ones, but we can start tomorrow if you'd like, taking your injuries into account." I nod in response, and he takes it as a dismissal as he turns to Eren, raising a blond eyebrow in question. "And you, Eren? You shouldn't even be out of bed yet."

His words make me want to yell at him, to remind him that it was he who confined Eren to his bed in the first place, but I feel warm fingers sweep across the back of my neck, and when I look back at Eren, he shakes his head imperceptibly, disguising the movement as he leans forward to press a kiss to my forehead. "Recovery is the first priority," he says without looking away from me, "for the both of us."

"How do you mean?" Erwin questions, folding his arms over his massive chest.

"It'll be a few more days before I can do much more than walk on my own, but I'll need to regain the strength I've lost while I've been bedridden." He raises his eyes to the commander, and I watch his face transform into something serious, something older, full of confidence and leaving no room for anyone to question him. It's intimidating in the calmest of ways, and I can easily picture him on the throne, ruling the kingdom with a grace his father no longer possesses. "Levi?"

"Hm? What?" I jerk my attention back to the present and focus on Eren again, rolling my eyes at the amusement on his face.

"I know you're fully capable of knowing your own limits," he starts hesitantly, "and this decision is yours to make, but would you consider maybe taking a few extra days to rest and recover before throwing yourself into training?"

I blink at him, considering his words and the meaning behind them. He's leaving the decision to me, letting me choose how to proceed, but I know that he's asking this of me for his sake as well as mine. Even as Rogue, he's always put me first, healing my hands before even mentioning why his were ruined, or cradling my face until I fell asleep, despite the fact that he was just as exhausted. Now he's doing it again, giving me control even though he knows I could very well choose against his wishes. Always putting me first, whether it's letting me sleep when he's about to collapse, or simply letting me speak for myself when he could so easily speak for me, for my own safety. _God_ , I don't deserve him.

"How far behind will that put me?" I don't want to find myself at a larger disadvantage than the one I'm already faced with.

He smiles softly and moves his hand to cup the back of my neck, brushing his thumb across the short, shaggy hairs there. "It won't be anything you can't handle. You'll pick it up easily, I think."

"Alright," I nod, "how many days?"

"The new recruits should be here in about three days, so I'd like it if you took two more after that to recuperate and join them on their third day of training." I need to focus on his words, _not_ on his fingers caressing the back of my neck, but it's more difficult than it should be. I end up nodding again in response, letting my head fall against his forearm, contenting myself simply by looking at him.

"Your hair wants trimming, hm?" He murmurs fondly, lifting his other hand to push the inky fringe out of my eyes. "I'm sure Armin wouldn't mind cutting it again."

"Does yours ever let itself be cut, or does it break the shears?" I tease lightly, watching his grin split into a full smile at my words.

"Apparently I inherited it from my mother," he starts, voice softer than before, "Petra tells me she often complained about the constant heat, and how it made her hair wild and unmanageable."

"That sounds right," I say, just as softly, "The only thing I remember about my mothers hair is that it was black, like mine."

"I bet she was gorgeous like you as well." He affirms, punctuating his words with a small kiss to my palm that somehow made its way into his fingers. "Now help me up, Erwin's trying to pretend he's not here and failing miserably." I turn around to see the Commander awkwardly staring at his feet, and almost laugh at how odd being uncomfortable looks on his chiseled features. He helps me haul Eren off the chaise anyways, waving us out the door while muttering something about me asking Armin if Eren can get in the bath.

Eren directs me down more hallways, leaning heavily on me all the while as we shuffle to wherever Armin is staying.

"Why don't you just move Armin and Mikasa into the palace instead of visiting them so much?" I ask, breathing slightly easier as he shifts more of his weight to his own feet.

"My father thought they would be too distracting and interfere with my obligations," He replies, only the smallest bit winded, "He isn't actually aware of how often I leave the palace. He thinks the only times I'm outside the wall are when I'm checking on patrols."

"Checking on patrols?" I question as we round a corner, "Doesn't Erwin do that?"

"He's a busy man. He doesn't always have time to babysit the children we call the Kingsguard. Besides," he says in a dangerous voice, "Father doesn't like to deal with them himself, he only really cares if I hurt one of them. Or nine of them."

I swallow thickly, unsettled by the murderous expression on his face. "What's going to happen to them?" I ask, sounding much more emotionless than I'd intended.

"The eight of them that I know survived will be relieved of their service and traded for something useful, I'd imagine. Erwin will make sure of it, for the sake of the Sultan's reputation, of course. As far as the other one, I think I killed him," he says conversationally, "I hope I killed him. If I didn't, I definitely broke him badly enough to be useless in servitude. He'll probably end up banished."

"I don't think he'll fare very well in the desert," I respond calmly.

"No," he murmurs, squeezing my shoulder briefly, "Neither do I."

We stop in front of a single door, as tall as the others, and carved with patterns of vines and other flora. At Eren's gesture, I knock on the wood, and Armin hauls it open seconds later, looking rumpled and irritated.

"Oh-hoh, what _ever_ have you been up to Armin?" Eren teases with a mischievous smile, "Don't tell me you've been minxing around with my staff again—"

"Oh shove it Eren, I was sleeping." He grumpily stalks away, jerkily motioning for us to follow him.

"Sure he was," he mutters in my ear as we shuffle into the room. The grin I'd been trying so hard to hold back slips on to my face, and I glance up at him, shaking my head slightly at his childish antics. "Oh hush, you love it." He chides playfully, pressing his warm fingers into my arm.

This room is clearly meant for guests, it's furnished nicely in the white and purple of the Sultan's court, and the window looks out on gardens I haven't seen yet. I help Eren up on to the bed while Armin grumbles somewhere in the background, digging noisily through his bag. Eren shifts around until he's comfortable, propping his chin on his crossed forearms and humming deep in his chest when I sit down next to him and stroke his hair. The blond man finally finds what he was searching for and walks around the bed to us, still looking rather irritated.

"Eren, sit up please, I need to check your sutures." Eren groans, but slowly pulls his knees underneath his body and pushes himself into a sitting position. I can't even imagine how much it must hurt him to move like that, especially with the strain it must put on his stitches. Armin starts unwrapping the binding, and I'm not sure how much I want to see the mess of thread that makes up his back again, but I stay still, steeling myself to support him however I can. Eventually Armin taps his knees, motioning for him to sit on the edge of the mattress, and he leans on me, grimacing slightly as he twists to pull his legs out from underneath himself. The last bit of bandage falls away, and Armin looks pleasantly surprised.

"Ah, this is good. Your skin felt a little hot, so I was worried you might have an infection, but I don't see anything abnormal." I hesitantly look at his back out of the corner of my eye, and it does look much better than yesterday. He must heal fast, because even with the dried blood plastered on his skin in some places, nothing's oozing, and nothing is torn. I was expecting the bruising, clouding his back in a dark purple that almost makes the thread blend in, but it still hurts to look at it, knowing what he had to endure to end up like this. I hate that he has to suffer through the torture of healing such an enormous wound, but I'm relieved that it's not worse.

"Erwin wanted to know if he could take a bath," I interject, and Armin shakes his head as he walks back to his bag.

"Maybe in a few days, but not today or tomorrow. Just because he doesn't have an infection yet doesn't mean he couldn't get one, and that's a whole other monster that I don't wish to panic over." He comes back with a porous sponge and a bottle of light blue liquid, and he hands them both to me before starting the tedious process of wrapping gauze around Eren's torso. "Tomorrow, when you both wake up, take his bandages off and clean around his stitches with this sponge. Make sure you get it wet first, with cool water preferably."

My fingers tighten slightly around the objects in my hands, but there's no reason for me to be nervous. This is nothing I can't handle. "Don't put the bandages back on afterwards," he says calmly, nudging Eren's arms away from the area he's working on, "And tomorrow night, before you go to sleep, wash him with the sponge again and put a few drops of that blue solution directly on his stitches. Keep doing it twice a day until I take the stitches out."

He tucks the tail of the remaining gauze into the section under Eren's arm before turning to me and motioning for me to sit on the edge of the mattress as well. I don't have time to protest before he's unwinding the bandages around my chest with quick, efficient movements. The draft is cold as it washes over my bare skin, and I scoot towards Eren, seeking the unnatural warmth of his body. Armin tosses the used bandage behind him, leaning in close to observe and run his icy fingers over the mottled bruising across my side. "Hm. You're lucky too," Armin mutters before standing up straight again. "I'm starting to suspect that your ribs were never truly broken. Maybe cracked, splintered even, but they're healing too straight to have been completely fractured." I can feel myself relax at the news, I've been subconsciously worrying about puncturing a lung ever since I was kicked a few days ago. "Now, about the scratches on your back..."

I feel rather than see Eren tense up next to me, and I want to throw Armin into the garden for letting those words leave his mouth.  The blond man reaches for a bottle of what looks like ointment, and Eren's fingers fly out to latch around his wrist. "Let me, Armin," he murmurs softly, picking up the bottle in his own hand and turning to me, eyes full of guilt.  "Come here, love. Let me take care of you." He shifts back on the mattress, leaving room for me to sit down in between his thighs on the very edge of the bed.  I hear his sharp inhale as he fully takes in what he did, and I'm sure my extreme paleness isn't helping matters much.  I'm expecting the cold touch of Armin's salve, but instead I'm met with warm arms wrapping loosely around my waist and his forehead against the back of my neck.  "I'm sorry," he chokes, "I'm so sor—"

"Stop that." I stand and turn around in his arms, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at me. "You didn't know what you were doing.  It's not your fault." He looks like he's about to cry, so I try doing what he does to me, I move my thumbs carefully along his cheekbones and wait for him to calm down.  "It was an accident," I murmur, and he closes his eyes, leaning into my fingers. I take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head, and he squeezes me lightly before moving his hands onto my hips and coaxing me into my previous position. I shiver and sigh when he spreads the balm over the stinging scabs on my back, and I have to fight the urge to lean back against him. I could fall asleep to the feeling of his warm fingers massaging my skin with the cool salve, but we're still in Armin's room, and I'll have plenty of time to sleep when we make our way back up to his bed. Actually, I haven't heard Armin grumble in awhile. When I look over at him, he's frozen in the middle of rolling up a strip of gauze, staring at Eren like he's never seen him before. I can hear Eren capping the bottle behind me, and he pulls me back against his chest, kissing my cheek with one last whispered apology before following my stare to Armin's paralyzed form.

"...Armin?"

"No!" The smaller man squeaks, "I mean— I'm sorry! I didn't mean to stare it's just..." He breaks off and smiles softly at the floor before looking back up at the two of us. "I've never seen you so open, so... affectionate. He's good for you."

"He's also right here," Eren growls quietly, "And he can hear, too. You're damn right he's good for me." I swat Eren's thigh and stand up, pulling a whine out of his now pouting mouth.

"Calm your quills little porcupine," I chide gently, and his eyes widen fractionally before he pulls my face back down to his and kisses me messily, holding on to my neck as I straighten to pull himself to his feet.

"Thanks for everything Armin, we're going now, see you tomorrow!" We're in the hallway before I can process what just happened, and he's pressing me against the wall next to the door, using it to pin me and support his weight at the same time. He kisses me thoroughly, perhaps a little more gracefully than the last time, and he doesn't stop until I can't seem to catch my breath anymore.

"Little porcupine," he mutters wryly against my grinning mouth, "I can't imagine where you heard something silly like that."

  
\---------------------------------------

  
_We're back in my bed and the sun is setting again, blindingly brilliant as its dying rays stream through my windows. I'm painting shadows all over the newly revealed skin of Levi's chest with my fingers, drawing the occasional shiver out of his sun-bathed form. He's already getting stronger, filling out nicely as his body adjusts to being properly fed. My fingers don't catch on the spaces between his ribs now, and even though he's naturally sharp-featured, his cheekbones don't look so painfully prominent since the skin over his face isn't stretched quite so much. I can't even imagine what he'll look like after he finishes his training. I believe he'll still be wonderfully slender, he really is a small man, and no amount of muscle could change the narrow grace of his hips and shoulders, however, he'll be so healthy after he goes through Erwin's training, I don't think he'll recognize himself when he's done._

 _He's always been beautiful to me, he'll always_ be _beautiful to me, but watching him grow healthier by the day fills me with something so wonderful I can't quite describe it in words. God, I didn't know it was going to hurt, loving someone this much. Petra had always told me it was wonderful, that's she'd seen it shining on my mother's face  from time to time and had grown envious of how radiant it made her. This_ is _wonderful, it's more wonderful than anything I've ever felt, but it's agonizing as well. Every single moment I make him happy feels like a knife in my chest, twisting with the most delicious pain._

_I watch the gooseflesh rise on his skin as my touches become lighter, no more than the skimming of my fingertips across his chest and stomach. He shivers again and opens his eyes, those gorgeous silver eyes that I'm absolutely enslaved by. He smiles sleepily, and I curve my fingers over his collarbone, stretching up to kiss his jaw._

_"Don't tell me you're tired already, the sun hasn't even set yet," I tease, and he rolls his eyes, smile never leaving his face._

_"You're one to talk. You've barely been able to keep your eyes open lately. I remember when you used to be fun." He starts stroking my hair again, and I find myself struggling to keep my eyes open, ironically enough._

_"You don't think I'm fun?" I pout, knowing how childish he thinks I look._

_"You used to show me sunsets," he sighs dramatically, "You used to bring me pillows and hand cream and—"_

_"All right," I playfully cut him off, "If my memory serves me right, and it should, seeing as that was only weeks ago, I gave you all those things at once because I felt so horrible about how I treated you. The sunset was an exception, I suppose."_

_"I want that pillow back," he declares seriously, "Especially now that I know it was from this bed."_

_"We'll get your things when we're well enough to make the trip," I assure him, and I can feel myself grin as an idea slips into my mind. He scrutinizes my expression as I move myself up just a little farther, allowing me to reach his face. He looks suspicious, rightfully so. "You really don't think I'm fun anymore?" I question, as innocently as I can manage, "Not at all?"_

_"That's right," he says, voice serious and steady._

_"So you don't consider this," I press a warm kiss to the corner of his mouth, "any fun?" He shakes his head, managing to look stubborn and pleased at the same time. "What about this?" I whisper, dragging a hand up his chest and over his shoulder to cup his face, coaxing his head to the side and giving me room to gently close my teeth over the shell of his ear. "Still no fun?" I purr quietly, releasing the cartilage to nip at his jaw._

_"I hate you," he utters, breathless and lovely. I lean back to observe the pink sitting high on his cheekbones with a smirk._

_"No you don't. Actually, I'm fairly sure you love me. Almost positive, really."_

_"You're ridiculous," he states, fondly raising his hands to hold my face and unable to keep the smile off his own any longer._

_"But you love it," I tease softly._

_"But I love it." He murmurs back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AhhhhhhHHHH I LOVE WRITING THIS SO MUCH FUCK
> 
> Also, unrelated, how many of y'all would read an omegaverse if I decided to write one hmmmm? Let me know, like either way I'm gonna write it, but it would be nice to know if people are actually gonna read it XD 
> 
>  
> 
> ALRIGHT THO 
> 
> IM ON TUMBLR COME BOTHER ME (okay gonna try some coding)  
> [TUMBLR](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bitchflavoredicecube)
> 
> Update: IT WORKED YASSS


	15. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a game, a surprise visit from unwelcome company, and reassurances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly think we're all friendly enough to be past apologies at this point but STILL I'M REALLY SORRY.  
> BUT,  
> but,
> 
> it's okay.
> 
> BECAUSE I HAVE SOMETHING TO MAKE IT UP TO Y'ALL.
> 
> I am leaving links to the first chapters of some BRAND NEW ERERI by yours truly, at the end of this chapter. Hell yeah. I am also going to start posting sneak peeks of the new chapters on my tumblr, and y'all know where to find that. 
> 
> Alright so once again, I'M SORRY, and enjoy I love you all each and every one of you

"That  _horrible,_ traitorous, cheating _, slimy-fingered_ son-of-a-slithering- _demon—"_

"Calm down—"

"I don't  _want_ to calm down!  _You_ calm down!"

"Armin, it's only a game—"

"No, it was not  _a_ game, it was  _several_ games, and I don't understand how he managed to win all of them!

The blond man's voice is shrill enough to pierce through metal, and I can't stop smirking from where I'm nestled in the hollow of Eren's crossed legs as he tries to calm Armin from behind me. 

"He has to be cheating somehow! The false bastard—"

"Careful now," Eren warns, voice like the deadly calm before a sandstorm, "There's only one bastard here, and it's certainly not Levi. If you don't quit saying nasty things and get ahold of yourself, I'll toss you off the balcony." Armin's mouth snaps shut, and I smirk wider, leaning back into Eren's broad chest. "Better yet," he continues, ducking to prop his chin on my shoulder, "I'll let Levi do it. That way, I get to watch." Armin grumbles unintelligibly and stalks away to bang his head against one of the hard stone pillars in the bath room. Eren laughs, sharply and suddenly when he starts pacing in circles and throwing his hands towards the ceiling. In the short time that I've known Armin, he hasn't been the most emotional person. I suppose that could have to do with the fact that I've seen him in mostly clinical settings, but it's still amusing to watch his calm demeanor splinter into pieces because he lost a simple game. 

"I can never beat him him at  _shatranj._ Strategy comes to you very naturally, no? You won on the first try." Eren's arms have been wrapped loosely around my midsection since I dropped myself in his lap, but now one of his hands is sneaking under the borrowed shirt I'm wearing, gliding across my stomach and curling around the bare skin of my waist. 

"I don't know about all that," I say quietly, focusing on the light pressure of his palm against my hipbone. "It's wasn't hard once I understood the rules."

"No," he muses thoughtfully from his position on my shoulder, "No, I suppose it wasn't. You have a sharp mind, my love." I pause, not really knowing how to react to his words. I've been called many things, but sharp-minded is not one of them. When I think  _smart,_ the last thing that comes to mind is myself. I think of the groomed and sensible mind of Eren, of the cruel intelligence of Erwin and the quick calculation of Armin. That being said, I don't consider myself stupid. Even if nobody ever paid any mind to me, I was always watching and learning from them. I can't read or write, and I'm sure if I were to even  _look_  at all the parchment drowning Eren's desk I'd come away with a headache, but I'm not stupid. I know how the world works, and I know how to survive. I know how to speak, and I know how to listen. Nothing else has ever mattered before now. 

I don't like to think about the future, because I have no idea what it could possibly have in store, but if I'm going to be with him as long as I hope I'm going to be with him, than I think I'd like to learn how to read. I wonder if he would teach me. I'll have to ask him later, when his mind isn't so distracted, when his hand  _isn't_  slowly creeping up my chest under the shirt I borrowed from him. 

"Are you trying to be sly?" I ask sternly, trying to fight the grin off my face and the odd pitch from my voice. 

"Oh, what?" He teases, flattening his bandaged palm over my sternum, "You noticed already? You're much too quick for me." I shiver when his lips graze my neck, and without my conscious permission, my head falls to the side, giving him room to do as he pleases. "I like you in my clothes," he murmurs against my skin, "you're practically swimming in them, it's wonderful."

"Mmm, not everyone can be so ridiculously tall," I hum, letting my eyes close and sighing as his lips travel under my jaw. I feel almost sleepy, even though I've never rested better than I do in his wonderful bed, tucked safely against his firm body and covered by blankets just thin enough to be comforting without making the sticky heat of the night unbearable. My eyes are constantly closing during the day when I get especially comfortable, like my body is trying to make up for all the sleep I never had the chance to get. 

"I'll have Mikasa make you some clothes," he whispers against my skin, "but until then, I'm going to let myself be possessive, and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it." 

"Tell her to take her time," I murmur back, "I like me in your clothes too." I can feel him smile against my neck, and I'm just beginning to twist around so I can kiss him properly when Armin comes back outside, making himself known with a sarcastic clearing of his throat. 

"I hate to interrupt, but Petra is about to run out here.  I think she wants to have a word with you." Armin turns around and leaves, passing by Petra as she rushes on to the balcony. 

"You need to hide him," she says grimly, looking down at Eren, "You need to hide him  _now_."

He bolts upright, faster than I would have thought possible with me in his lap, and sets me on the ground, grabbing my wrist and staggering unsteadily back into the bedroom, tugging me along behind him. "I hate to do this to you," he pants, turning around and looking at me pleadingly, "I really hate to do it, but I am under the impression that my parents have decided to pay me a surprise visit, and I don't know what exactly they're going to do. Just go under the bed and be silent, I'll tell you when they're gone." I nod tersely and sink to the floor before pushing myself through the blankets hanging off the mattress and sliding under the bedframe. I can see the mattress sinking with his weight as he settles into it, and not two seconds later, the doors open. 

Two pairs of slippered feet stop a few feet short of the bed, and a man speaks, voice thin and composed. "Eren, so good to see you awake." He pauses, as if he expects Eren to greet him as well. When he stays silent, I can't help but grin inwardly, because he owes them absolutely  _nothing,_ not even words. "You haven't been joining us for meals lately," he says, sounding slightly irritated. "Would you care to tell us why that is?"

"It might have something to do with the fact that I was tortured within an inch of my life only a few days ago, that could be it," Eren responds, deceptively calm. 

The next voice that sounds makes it very clear to me that it's not the Sultan who's in charge of this kingdom. This woman's voice isn't nasty, not in the least. She's confident, dangerously so, and she speaks with the air of a person who has grown used to being untouchable in every sense of the word. I can practically  _smell_  the cunning dripping from every part of her being, despite the fact that I can barely remember her face.

"We just wanted to check on you, sweetheart," she says smoothly, "We were very worried, of course."

"Of course," Eren mutters. "Now as delighted as I am to see you both, I'd very much like to go back to sleep. If you wouldn't mind—"

"Don't be snippy, Eren," Grisha reprimands calmly. "I've also come to ask how you're planning on dealing with the recruits arriving in the next few days."

"I've already talked to Erwin. I'll be doing more supervision than anything until I can move without worrying about  _tearing the stitches out of my back_."

"I understand that you resent my actions," Grisha emphasizes flatly, "but they were entirely necessary." The anger I feel at his words surprises me with it's ferocity, racing hot and fast through my body. "No one is above punishment for such unacceptable actions, not even you. If I let the Prince of this kingdom get away with assault, there would be chaos outside the walls."

There already  _is_ chaos outside the walls, but I wouldn't expect him to know anything about it. To my surprise, Eren doesn't argue, doesn't tell him how  _wrong_ he is, simply answers Grisha's outrageous speech with a quiet, "Yes, father." 

The more I find myself around the Sultan, the more I want to make him bloody under my hands until he begs for forgiveness that I will not give. 

The smooth voice of Eren's stepmother cuts through my thoughts, and my insides twist as I hear her ask Eren to join them for dinner tonight. Everyone is silent for a moment, and I so wish I could see their faces, but then Eren responds in a voice I've never heard before. He sounds almost demure, and unsettlingly respectful. "I don't think I can make it down the stairs, actually. I do hate to decline, I know how much you enjoy dining as a family, but I couldn't bear to be such an inconvenience for you both." He sighs, like he's positively  _filled_  with regret before continuing in that quiet, unfamiliar voice. "I think it might be best if I stayed here awhile longer, but how kind of you to think of me so fondly."

I can almost feel her bristling from my place under the heavy bedframe, and I realize for the first time how dangerous Eren has the potential to be. He knows how to manipulate his words to rattle a person, targeting and fawning at the same time. If I didn't already know how he felt about his stepmother, I would've thought their relationship was absolutely cordial. There's absolutely no way Grisha suspects any hostility from either of them, not anymore. Despite the power he wields, he is entirely overshadowed. 

My ears catch Grisha bidding Eren a short goodbye, and finally,  _finally,_ I hear two sets of receding footsteps followed by the doors closing heavily. I wait a few seconds before sliding out from under the bed and turning to see Eren laying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows with his face in his hands. I slip on to the mattress next to him, hesitantly pressing against his side in silent support. He inhales, shaky and slow before sliding his fingers around my waist and pulling me underneath him, burying his face in my neck as my hands smooth over his shoulders. I don't know what to say, I don't even really know how he's feeling, but I will be here for him, and if he needs to spill whatever's going on in his head, I'll always listen. 

I slide my hands into his thick, unruly hair and massage little circles into his scalp, hoping the action will help calm the storms in his mind. He does seem to relax slightly, his breathing slows and some of the tension leaves the muscles of his back. "Eren?" I call softly, pausing the movement of my fingers. He responds by smoothing his palms over my hips, under the loose shirt, and around my back, holding me as close to his body as possible. 

"I never want them anywhere near you." he whispers, "No matter what happens, they must not  _ever_  find you." His words are heavy, and I don't know how to respond to them, but he's scared. He's not scared of much, and that fact alone has me frightened along with him. 

"We'll be fine," I say quietly, trying to sound more confident than I am, "They can't hurt me." 

He frantically shakes his head, fingers curling in the dip of my spine. "If they find you, they can hurt you." he declares morosely, "They can, and they will." My hands fall out of his hair as he raises his head, and I find myself feeling irritatingly smaller than usual under the intensity of his gaze. "I'll send you away if I have to. If it comes to that." 

My stomach drops to my feet, and I very suddenly feel like I could be sick all over him. I can't help but panic, shaking underneath him hard enough for my teeth to jar against each other. I wouldn't know what to do anymore without him in my life. It's a terrible curse, this dependence. I despise how much he means to me, but I don't despise it enough to ever make myself leave him. I love him far too much for my own damned good. If he sends me away, a piece of me will stay behind with him, and both of us will be left broken. "Y-you what?" I stutter, trying to get myself under enough control to form coherent sentences, "I-I-I don't— I mean if— if that's what you w-want—"

"Hush, darling," he whispers, looking worried as he tightens his hold on me. "It wouldn't be forever, I'd never truly leave you." My eyes dart back and forth between his, searching for confirmation that what he says is true. "I need you safe. Above all else, I need you safe." He slips his hands out from underneath my back, moving them up to hold my face. "You've become my whole world, love, I won't have you in any place where you could be harmed." The light pressure of his fingers against my skin helps ground me, but I can't quite unclench my hands from where I'd fisted them in the loose fabric of his shirt.

"If I ever have to get you out of the Palace, you won't be alone," he murmurs, briefly pressing his forehead to mine. "Armin and Mikasa would keep you hidden until I could come back for you. No matter what happens,  _you will be fine_." 

I believe him, but I once again find myself wishing that time would freeze so we could stay like this forever. With each passing day, reality draws closer and closer to the paradise we've made in his bedroom. Eventually, his parents will find out about us, and all we can do is hope that it happens after Eren has taken the throne. Also, the new recruits for the Kingsguard will arrive in a few days, I will have to join them shortly after, and I don't know if I'm ready. I'm afraid that even with the extra time to rest and heal, I won't be able to keep up with the others. 

I don't want to disappoint Eren, even if I know how irrational it is to think that I could. I know that if I really try, I'm going to be able to do this and I'm going to be  _good_  at it, but a small part of me is still scared of being this involved in Eren's world, a world I was just recently tossed into. I have more of a reason to be here than any of the recruits that will be brought in, and I refuse to fail because of my own personal disadvantages, but I can't help but wonder if he'll eventually realize this was a mistake, and that he should have never gotten involved with me. 

"What are you thinking about?" He murmurs, brushing a few strands of hair away from my eyes and distracting me from the nonsense running through my brain. 

"It's nothing." I say, meeting his eyes and hoping he'll believe me.

"It's something," he declares softly, tracing between my eyes with his thumb. "Your eyebrows crease when you're upset." 

I snort, turning away from his touch. "They do not. Don't be a brat." Even out of the corner of my eye, I can see his smile grow impossibly wide, and before I even have the chance to contemplate what he might be planning, there are teeth nipping at the shell of my ear. 

"My love, my darling, my beautiful moon and stars," he murmurs, "What could possibly be bothering someone so perfect and wonderful like yourself?" He manages to sound so dramatic, even while he's tracing the bones of my face with his long fingers. I roll my eyes, refusing to play his little games. 

"Levi," he croons, pushing the hair off my forehead, "Lev—" 

"I haven't taken your bandages off yet." I interrupt suddenly, "Armin told me to. I forgot, but it's still morning. Take off your shirt." Even though I'm not looking at him, I can feel his confusion, and when it gives way to dismay, my stomach clenches with guilt I try to ignore. He wordlessly shifts off of me and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling off his loose shirt in one swift movement. His back is to me, and I can see the dark bruises bleeding out from the edges of the white gauze, darkening his already dark skin to grossly unnatural colors. 

 _That was for you,_ my mind whispers.  _He took those lashes for you. He loves you, and you're spitting in his face._ My hands are shaking slightly, but I move forward and start unwinding his bandages anyways, cursing myself for acting like a child. "I— I just... worry." It sounds pitiful coming from my mouth, and the only indication that he's heard me is the subtle tilt of his head in my direction. I swallow thickly, squeezing the gauze in my hands and trying to continue with a steady voice. "I worry that when I start training with the others, you're going to realize it was a terrible idea to bring me here." 

He stays silent, like he's waiting to see if I'll continue, so I indulge him and start speaking again, quieter this time. "I feel like once I actually take part in your world, you'll realize you never really wanted me here in the first place, that you should have left me in the tower." I don't give him time to respond, scooting off his bed and grabbing the porous sponge off his nightstand before padding over to the basin full of cool water by the massive doors. Armin specified that the sponge should be damp, not dripping, so after soaking it, I do my best to wring most of the water out before walking back towards Eren, whose head is bowed in thought. 

It's only after I'm completely finished dabbing around the jagged mess of skin and thread that makes up his back that he straightens and twists around to look at me. I try to keep my face blank, not even moving to brush the hair out of my eyes as under his scrutiny. "Come here." He says quietly. His voice gives me no indication of what could be going on in that head of his, but my legs are moving anyways, bringing me off the mattress to stand in front of him. I watch my toes curl nervously against the cold tiles, waiting for him to speak, to do anything, really. 

"You drive me crazy." I glance up at him through my bangs, but he's looking at the ceiling, no trace of humor on his face, and when he finally meets my stare, something that I can't swallow sticks in my throat. "What else could I possibly do to convince you that I need you? That I... that I love you?" I don't know how I'm supposed to respond, but I can't keep looking at him. I stare down at my feet again, shame pricking at the backs of my eyes. "Oh, Levi..." He sighs quietly. I won't look at him. He doesn't need to see me acting like a stupid, chastised child. 

There are fingers on my hips, pulling me closer. His hands are gentle, and as he peers up at me where I'm hiding under my own hair, his face is gentle too. 

He's smiling slightly, but it looks almost pained, and when he next speaks, I wish he hadn't. "Don't you remember what happened when you left the guardshed that day? It wasn't long ago." 

I don't want to think about what happened in the guardshed. I don't want to think about how I hurt him, how I left him broken on the ground. My eyes squeeze shut, but all I can see is his frozen, tear-stained face. "No, Levi, my Levi, don't cry love." his hands tug me forwards until I'm flush against him, and I'm puzzled at his words until I realize that I am, in fact, crying when my face presses into his shoulder and moisture spills onto his skin. He coaxes me closer, turning me until I'm practically on his lap, face tucked into his neck with a strong arm wrapped around my waist. 

"Do you think I could ever bear it if you truly left me?" he murmurs into my hair, "I would never send you away unless I absolutely had to, Levi. When it comes to you, I am a very selfish man." I hate how shaky I am, I barely manage to nod in acknowledgement to his words. I wish he wasn't here to see me like this, but I also need him to stay, to give me a reason to be strong. 

The fingers of his free hand lace with mine, and he holds them against his chest, right above his heart. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he murmurs softly. "I know this all happened very fast, but I think I've already forgotten how to be without you." I'm not crying anymore, not really, but my chest aches under the weight of what he's saying. It's nice knowing that I'm not the only one who feels like it would be impossible to be separated, but I think it's going to be awhile before that stops frightening me. I spent too much of my life completely alone, and don't know how long it will take for me to get used to someone actually wanting to be around me, no matter how much I love him. 

He echoes my thoughts, whispering into my hair that he loves me, that he'll tell me every minute of every day if that's what it takes for me to believe it. I feel myself relaxing against him, breathing easier as he presses kisses to the top of my head. "You're strong," he whispers. "You're fierce and dangerous and powerful, and I know you can do this." I nod again, and his fingers squeeze briefly around mine in reassurance. "It's going to be different, and it's going to be hard, but you're going to be fine. You're going to be  _good_ at this _._ " His words give me the steel I need, and for the first time since I decided that I wanted to go through this training, I feel calm, lighter, like a weight I didn't know I was carrying suddenly disappeared. I also feel a little stupid now that my head is clearer, wondering why I would have possibly thought he would send me away after all we've been through. 

In the silence, I can hear his heartbeat, strong and steady under our clasped hands. We're alright, and no matter what happens, we  _will_  get through it, together. I turn just enough to press my lips to his neck, grinning slightly when I hear his pulse speed up. "I can feel you smiling, you little minx." He mutters wryly, tightening his arm around my waist. 

"Me? Never." I answer, smiling wider, debating whether or not I should bite him just to see how flustered he gets.

I do end up closing my teeth over the tender skin of his neck, and not two seconds later, I'm flat on my back, being pressed into the mattress as he licks his way into my mouth, hands diving underneath my loose shirt and smoothing up my bare sides. I pull his bottom lip between my teeth, reveling in the way he shakes against me when I release it with a scrape. When I open my eyes, he's staring at me, mismatched gaze bright and intense. "Don't tease me," he whispers lowly, fingers curling around the skin of my waist. 

I want to tease him. So help me, I want to tease him and see how far he'll go. I wasn't born yesterday, I _know_ what comes next, and all it would take is me pulling him closer, wrapping my legs around his waist and—

Petra waltzes through the door, drawing a quiet growl from Eren as she waves cheerily. "Hello boys," she greets, throwing a wink in our direction, "I'm going to draw a bath." When she disappears, Eren drops his head to my shoulder and groans, muttering something about how she always appears at the worst of times. 

"Oh, stop griping," I tease, smacking his shoulder. "It's not like you had anything planned." 

He raises his head slowly, eyes glittering, wolffish smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Darling, we can talk about  _that_  sort of plan whenever you'd like." I can't do anything more than stare at him as my face burns red, and he seems to enjoy my reaction, because he laughs, brushes the hair out of my face, and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. As he moves off of me and wobbles to his feet, I can't help but smile with the warmth that floods through my chest. 

I'm not going anywhere. He wants me here, and I want to be here, which means I'm staying as long as he'll have me. As I follow him to the bathroom, I resolve to at least make an attempt at confidence. I know I'm strong, but he called me  _powerful,_  another word I've never considered when I've thought about myself.

I want to be powerful. I want to be able to control my own mind, to stop being so convinced that Eren's going to send me away when he's told me so many times how much he loves me, to not find myself paralyzed at the idea of being alone. 

I don't feel powerful, but if I stop doubting myself, if I stop letting my own ridiculous fears control me, maybe I could. 

 

_\------------------------_

 

_He drifts lazily through the bath while I let my feet enjoy what the rest of me cannot, at least not yet. It might be awhile before I can bathe properly, but I really don't mind as long as I can watch Levi. It's almost funny how relaxed he gets, going boneless and barely able to keep his head above the water. He's floating towards me again, and when he slumps against my leg with a contented sigh, I slip my hand into his wet hair, pushing it away from his gorgeous eyes._

_He worried me earlier, I don't know why he thinks I would ever send him away permanently. The one time he left me hurt worse than the scourging, and I would do anything to avoid putting either of us through that pain ever again. It did remind me, however, of how unstable he can be in unfamiliar situations. He's not fragile, and I refuse to treat him as such, but if his mind gives up on him in the middle of a fight, he could be seriously hurt._

_I'm not going to coddle him, and I'm not going to shelter him, but I am going to ask him if he'd like to try meditating with me, and if he asks why, I'll tell him the truth. It would be good for both of us I think. Erwin used to have me meditate twice a day when I was younger to help me control my temper. I haven't had time lately, but I'll make time if it will help calm and stabilize his mind, help keep him safe._

_I'd do anything to keep him safe._

_It will all be so much easier once I'm able to take the throne. Levi won't have to hide, and there will be no one standing in the way as I attempt to start fixing the damage my father has done. I think Levi will be very popular with the people of this kingdom, and I hope that having him by my side will help them realize that I am not my father, and that they all have a voice that I will do my best to listen to._

_Levi hasn't spoken in awhile, and when I look down at where he's draped himself across my knee, his eyes are closed. I don't think he's asleep, but he looks relaxed enough to melt. A wave of fondness crashes through me so suddenly it's almost painful, and I let my hand slide down to hold his face, surrendering the air in my lungs when he opens his eyes with a lazy smile. He smiles so much more now than when we first met, but I would still tear down entire civilizations with my bare hands to get a mere glimpse of it._

_If he knew just how much of me utterly belonged to him, he'd never again doubt how much I wanted him with me, how keenly I would feel the loss if he ever truly left. I don't think he's aware of just how much power he has over me._

_I help him out of the bath, ignoring the way my stitches protest the movement before wrapping his naked frame in a fluffy towel. He sighs appreciatively, reminding me just how much he loves being clean, hair washed and fragrant with the exotic scent of my soap. Honestly, I enjoy him smelling like me almost_ too _much.  When I suggest meditation to him, he looks at me skeptically, like he doesn't quite believe that I'm serious.  I tell him that it's helpful for both the body and mind, and he laughs at me, snorting something that sounds a lot like "sure it does."_

 _He can make fun of me as much as he likes, but as I observe him basking in the sun on my expansive balcony, I really do believe that it will help him relax, and eventually, everything about him will be just as fiery as his spirit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here are some fun links for fun gay times.
> 
>  
> 
> [Flying Blind](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6465730/chapters/14798542)  
> 
> 
> [Whisper](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6645031/chapters/15202897)  
> 
> 
> [Bathtubs Don't Make Good Hiding Places](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6645238)  
> 
> 
> [TUMBLR](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bitchflavoredicecube)  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Give me some sugar  
> Or kudos  
> Or literally any feedback  
> Or whatever
> 
> I'm on tumblr  
> (@bitchflavoredicecube)
> 
> Thanks for reading I adore all of you.


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